


Just a Pack of Sweets

by GrumpyJenn



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Torchwood
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s04e13 Journey's End, Eventual Friends to Lovers, F/M, Friendship, Minor Character Death, Osterhagen Key, Pete's World, Pre-COE, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-09 12:43:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 29,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1146139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrumpyJenn/pseuds/GrumpyJenn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You know you wondered, and if you do the maths, it's only six weeks from the day Mickey and Martha meet to the day when Martha is said to be on her honeymoon. </p><p>Six months after that we learn that Mickey and Martha are married.</p><p>Fast work... unless it's timey wimey</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Journey's End

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kehwie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kehwie/gifts), [clare009](https://archiveofourown.org/users/clare009/gifts), [SnubNosedSilhouette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnubNosedSilhouette/gifts), [Amie33](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amie33/gifts).



_Yeah_ , Mickey thought, _not gonna happen. Nothing left for me back there in the other… not with Gran gone. Certainly not Rose._

So he said goodbye to Jackie… he _would_ miss Jackie… told the Doctor as much,  and took off after Captain Beefcake and the pretty woman from UNIT. Martha Jones.

“Thought I got rid of you,” Jack said, but it was obvious to Mickey he was teasing. Why hadn’t he seen it before? Jack was a decent bloke, just a little more handsy than Mickey was comfortable with. But decent, and all you had to do was say ‘hands off’ and he was hands off.

Besides, Jack and Martha were talking about Torchwood and UNIT and which was better than the other, so Mickey listened. He’d learned some things in the past few years in the other universe, after all, and how to listen was one of those things. You learned things by listening.

 

-/-

 

 _Yeah,_ Martha thought, _he’s got his Rose back. Good for them, then. It’d be nice if…_ She looked at Jack speculatively… _no. I just want someone… normal. Damn Tom, anyway. At least Jack’ll understand if I need a shoulder to cry on..._

But then this Mickey Smith bloke joined them, and Martha resigned herself to putting a good face on it. God knew she had practice, with the Doctor and then Tom, and … it was just a couple of weeks since she’d been engaged, she still wore his ring in case things could go back to the way they... she’d thought she was happy, and now look…

But as she and Jack talked about the virtues and failings of Torchwood and UNIT, and Mickey seemed to be listening, she was still thinking on it. ‘ _Course, sounds like this Mickey has had his share of putting a good face on it, what with the Doctor and Rose and alternate universes and all that. Just from the other side of that… whole messed up relationship._

 

-/-

 

“Come on,” said Jack as they neared the Plass, “I’ll treat you two to a hotel suite. The works - couple of posh bedrooms, a lounge, all of it. Can’t take Mickey into Torchwood, not without clearance. And I need to get back to Torchwood, take care of my people, I--”

“Jack,” Martha interrupted. “I’m sure we can handle it.” She kissed his cheek. “Go,” she said, giving him a little push, “Give my love to Gwen and Ianto.”

“You bet,” Jack said, and smiled at her, then winked at Mickey. “Catch you later, Mickey Mouse.” He saluted and ran off.

Martha looked at Mickey, who grinned at her and offered her his arm in friendly fashion. She took it, and together they walked across the Plass to the hotel.

-/-

 

“Tell me about the alternate Earth,” Martha invited later, as they sat at a quiet table in the hotel restaurant. They’d bought clothes in the hotel shops and showered and changed. “I mean, I’ve heard some of it, how you got there and all,” she said, thinking about a folding chair in the ruins of New New York, the quiet voice of the Doctor. And then she drank tea and ate little tea cakes and watched Mickey’s pretty brown eyes. She listened to his soft voice as he spoke of Autons and Slitheen and the first Doctor he’d met, and of helping Rose open the TARDIS and meeting the new Doctor - Martha’s Doctor - at Christmas. He told her of meeting Sarah Jane Smith and K-9, and the _Madame du Pompadour_.

Martha watched, and listened, and very soon she felt that she knew this man, had known him for a long time. _Both associates of the Doctor_ , she supposed, _and so he feels he can tell me the whole story_. But just then he stopped, looking uncertain. “What?” Martha asked, “Sorry - did I fade out?” He shook his head at her.

“The rest you know,” he said shortly, avoiding her eyes, as though he felt he’d said too much. “Stayed on the other Earth, fought Cybermen, the usual drill. You?”

 

-/-

 

 _Shit_ , Mickey thought, _I didn’t mean to say all that._ But he felt down, in spite of what he’d said to the Doctor; he’d miss Jackie and even Pete, and he missed his Gran, so he asked Martha her story. And she talked too, just as he had, telling him things she’d probably not tell others, but could tell _him_ because he’d been through the wars; he’d understand. Things like how she’d been with the Doctor in 1913, and about the Family of Blood. How they’d been to the end of the universe and met the Master and the _Valiant_ and walking the Earth alone.

He noticed that she stuck to facts, refused to speculate aloud about what the Master had likely done to the Doctor and to Jack - and her family - on board the _Valiant_. But there were tremors in her voice when she spoke of them, and she obviously felt guilty for leaving them there while she went off to save the world. That was the phrase she used - _went off to save the world_ \- and her voice was surprisingly bitter when she did.

When she told him about Torchwood, and the terrible things that had happened to Jack’s team both while she’d been there and after, her voice trembled a little more than it had, and he put a hand on hers on the table and squeezed it gently. “Stop,” he suggested. “It’s… fresh for you, yeah? New, less than a year, and it still hurts.” She nodded at him, threw him a little half smile, and he squeezed her hand again.

Then her eyes widened as she looked over his shoulder, and Mickey turned to see Jack standing in the doorway of the little restaurant. He beckoned them over and when they went, Mickey noticed that Jack’s eyes looked sad, not the usual flirtatious or even the angry expression he’d seen once or twice.

“Did you get a suite?” Jack’s voice was uncharacteristically sober. “I need to talk to you in private.” He was looking at Martha, but the remark was clearly meant for Mickey too, and they followed him into the lift.

 

-/-

 

“I’m sorry, Martha, more than I can say but…” Jack took a deep breath. “It’s Tom. He’s dead.”

Martha felt a mad urge to laugh, even as the news hit her like a Dalek blaster. She staggered back a step, away from Jack’s sympathetic blue eyes, and felt a warm hand grasp her elbow. “I…” she began, and closed her eyes to gather her strength. “How do you know?” She could hear what she was saying as though the words came from someone else, and the part of her that was a doctor filed it away as shock.

Jack was saying that when they couldn’t find Martha, Tom’s colleagues had contacted UNIT, who in turn had phoned Torchwood. But all Martha could hear was a ringing in her ears as her mind went around in circles, replaying their last meeting.

_“I’m sorry, Martha,” he’d said, “I love you, but I’m just not sure I can cope with a wife who’s always off to save the world. You’re too… too perfect, like a bloody hero.”_

_She had turned to face him, only to see that his mind was made up. He was going to let her go, cut her loose, because he couldn’t see that they each saved the world in their own way. As though saving the lives of children in underprivileged countries wasn’t heroic._

_“I’ve never tried to be the hero, Tom,” she’d said softly. “It just happened.”_

_“Yeah,” he’d said. “And modest too.” His tone was the nastiest she’d ever heard it, because Tom just didn’t do nasty._

_“But I love you,” she’d said, blankly._

_“I’m sorry,” he had said again. “I don’t want to hurt you.”_

_“Bit late for that,” she’d snapped, and fled._

_Maybe after he came back from Africa and she from America, Martha had thought, maybe they could talk and work it out._

And now he was dead. From what Jack was saying, he’d been killed by a bloody fucking Dalek – he’d jumped in front of the damn thing to save a patient of his. _My fault,_ she thought; _he was trying to prove he could be a hero too._

She didn’t realise she’d said all of it aloud until Jack enfolded her in his arms and she wept against his chest, forgetting all about Mickey. “It’s not,” Jack murmured into her hair, “It’s not your fault.”

 

-/-

 

Mickey Smith was just a little shocked at how angry he was at the guy - her late fiancé - who had hurt Martha so badly she cried. He hadn’t known her very long, about a day for Chrissakes, but he could already see that she was a tough little thing. He felt helpless though, _because_ he hadn’t known her long, so he did what he always did when he felt helpless.

He went to the little kitchenette and made a cup of tea.

A very strong, very sweet cuppa - best treatment for shock Mickey knew of, for human or Time Lord, and when he came back into the sitting area he placed it on a low table near Martha; she was now sitting on the couch, looking tearstained but steady. She flashed him a quick smile of thanks and he sat down on her other side from Jack.

Martha looked from one to the other, and murmured something about _the pair of you,_ and reached for her tea. She drank it down, probably scalding her tongue, Mickey thought, but she looked the better for it after.

“Now then,” Martha said, “I need a bit of time to myself.” Her voice dropped. “But thank you both. I’ll just take myself off to bed, shall I?” Her voice was brighter now, but sounded brittle to Mickey, and her smile was as false as the voice. Martha gestured vaguely at the nearer of the two bedrooms in the suite and got up.

“Nightingale,” Jack began, and she stopped, turning to look at him.

“I’ll be okay, Jack,” she said softly. “I promise.” And she went into the bedroom, shutting the door behind her with a quiet _click_.


	2. Don't Go

The door shut with a definitive _click_ behind Martha, and Mickey looked at Jack.

“You love her,” Mickey said simply, and Jack nodded.

“Not like you might think,” he said seriously. “She’s…” he trailed off, trying to find the words.

“Like your sister,” Mickey suggested, “‘Cept for that flirting you do with everyone who’ll hold still for it.” He grinned at Jack, enjoying seeing the older man flustered for once, then sobered. “She’s hurt, though, and it’s… weird, innit? I mean, tough little thing like her, been through the wars, but…” It was Mickey’s turn to trail off.

“Yes, she is,” Jack said, blue eyes very serious, and a little worried. “And I need to get back. Ianto nee… my team needs me.”

 _Oho_ , thought Mickey, surprised. _Our Jack’s gone and fallen completely in love, has he?_ “I’m sure your Ianto will be fine, Jack,” he said. “Martha told me some of… well… some of what went on at Torchwood while she was there, and after. Ianto’s got you, and this Gwen, right?”

“Yeah. But he was at Canary Wharf, Mickey, and he doesn’t have my… my resurrective advantage. He and Gwen just fought off Daleks _inside_ Torchwood and…”

“...and you just need to get back, make sure he’s OK yourself. I gotcha, Captain.” Mickey threw him a mocking salute. “Go. I’ll look after Martha.”

“You phone me if she needs me, Mickey.”

“I think I can handle it. But if she asks for you I will.”

 

-/-

 

_No!_

_Don’t. Please don’t.  
Please don’t hurt them anymore._

_What did Jack ever do to you?  
_ _Tom, why did you have to be the hero?_

_Wasn’t it enough that you saved lives?_

_No, it wasn’t enough, and it’s my fault, my fault, MY FAULT!  
_ _No!!!_

 

“Martha.”

She sat up, gasping, and nearly broke Mickey’s wrist - his hands were gripping her shoulders gently - before she realised it was attached to someone familiar and friendly.

He used his other hand to snap on a bedside lamp. “Break it or don’t, Martha, but make up your mind, yeah?”

She let go his wrist, horrified, and buried her face in her hands. “Oh, God, I’m sorry.”

“S’okay. No harm done. See?” Mickey held his hand out for inspection, and Martha snapped into medical mode, removing her face from her hands and grasping his hand far more gently this time.

It was fine; there would maybe be a bruise just there, but that was all.

“I _am_ sorry,” she whispered.

“Nightmares?”

“Yeah,” Martha sighed. “They’ve been gone for months now, but tonight….”

“It’s been a tough day,” Mickey offered, so deadpan that he startled Martha into a half laugh, half sob, and then she felt the tears well over, and he put an arm around her shoulders and just sat and let her cry.

“Better?” he asked when the sobs had stopped.

“Sort of,” said Martha, and gave him a smile that she hoped wasn’t too ghastly. “Thanks. And I’m sorry.”

“What for? My wrist is fine.”

“For… Mickey, I’ve known you for all of one day and I’ve spent half of it telling you my life story or crying on your shoulder.”

Mickey shrugged. “Want me to phone Jack? He said I should if you need him.”

Martha smiled. “Ianto needs him more than I do,” she said.

“‘M sure Cap’n Jack has Ianto well in hand,” Mickey said, and paused, then said… “so to speak.”

This time the laugh was just that, and Martha felt much better for it.

 

-/-

 

Every time Mickey thought he had Martha pegged, she surprised him. She _was_ a tough little thing, that much he’d got, but she was surprisingly vulnerable in spots. Usually in spots where she thought she should have done more, felt guilty for not keeping people safe.

God knew Mickey was familiar with that; in that way she was just like the Doctor.

Or even Mickey himself, some days.

But he held her hand and let her talk, and eventually he couldn’t hide the yawning anymore, and neither could she, so he pulled his hand away. “Gotta go get some sleep,” he said, and stood up.

He was halfway to the door when Martha’s voice came softly. “Mickey. Don’t go.”

 _Down, boy,_ he told himself, _that’s not what she means._

But he found himself stopping and turning.

“I don’t mean… I’m not offering s--”

“Sometimes,” Mickey interrupted her, choosing his words very carefully. “Sometimes comrades in arms will bunk down together for safety and… comfort, yeah?”

“I won’t have nightmares if you’re here,” Martha said simply, and Mickey relaxed.

“Budge over then,” he said, and as she did he slid in beside her. “C’mere.”

She snuggled against his shoulder, and was asleep before he shut off the lamp.

 

-/-

 

“Mornin’, Martha. Mickey.” Jack nodded at them as they came down to breakfast in the hotel’s cafe. Mickey nodded back, then smiled at the young man sitting next to the Captain.

“Mickey Smith. You must be Ianto.” Martha watched Mickey turn a chair around and straddle it, She noticed that he placed it so he could see the entrance.

“Morning, Jack,” Martha said, and kissed Ianto’s cheek, then sat between him and Mickey. _Ianto is frowning into his coffee,_ she thought, _I think I’ll order the tea._

Jack looked distracted, and his expression made Martha feel uncomfortable. _What’s he up to?_ She wondered, and then she got her answer as he seemed to come to a decision. “I want you two to come in today,” he said abruptly, “and bring the Key.”

Martha gaped at him. “The Oster--” she began sharply, then lowered her voice. “The Osterhagen Key? Why?”

Jack lowered his voice as well. “I’ll take it off your hands,” he said, and for the first time Martha heard him sound as arrogant as the Doctor sometimes did. She shook her head.

“We’ll talk about it later, Jack,” she snapped, “At the Hub.” Mickey flashed her a smile when Jack wasn’t looking, and Ianto looked impressed at her standing up for herself. Fine, but that wasn’t why she did it. The Osterhagen key was _her_ responsibility, dammit, and she would deal with it herself.

But Jack didn’t just look arrogant; he looked… weary. Martha hadn’t seen him look like that since the Year. So she was sure to speak more gently when she said, “We’ll talk about it, Jack. I promise. But not here, okay?”

“Fine,” he said shortly, and switched on the trademark megawatt smile for the waitress.

 

-/-

 

Later, at the Hub, Mickey watched with a certain admiration as this tiny woman told Captain Jack Harkness off.

“ _No_ , Jack,” she said quietly, again, with steel in her voice, “I won’t give the Osterhagen Key to Torchwood. The Doctor told me to destroy it and I agree with him.”

It was obviously hard on her, because Jack was her friend and she wanted to please him, but she remained firm.

Jack started to pace. “Don’t you trust me to keep it safe in the Hub?”

Martha’s whole stance softened, Mickey noticed, and she put a hand on Jack’s arm. “Of course I trust you, Jack. And Gwen and Ianto. But what happens if you aren’t here? Who gets it then? UNIT? They were all too willing to use it this time, or to force me to do it. For all we know they have all sorts of this alien stuff in some black archive of their own! And I _will not_ let that happen, Jack; I’ll destroy it.”

“And just how were you planning to do that?” The tone was cold, but Mickey could hear Jack softening too as the older man put his hands on Martha’s shoulders and looked her in the face.

“Well,” Martha said, “That’s the thing. I was hoping you’d let me use the Rift.”

Jack’s jaw dropped, and Mickey stifled a laugh.

“Use the… and just how were you planning on doing that?”

Martha sighed. “I’m sorry, Jack. Ianto, please open file Toshiko hyphen Bravo 36 slash Alpha slash 42.” Her warm brown gaze never wavered from Jack’s coldly angry blue, although Mickey was sure she saw the wince that Jack couldn’t stop. “I _am_ sorry, Jack, but it’s something we looked into after Owen…”

“The Resurrection Gauntlet,” Jack said, voice hoarse.

Martha nodded. “Yes. I wanted to determine a way to destroy alien artifacts if need be. So I got her help, and now it _is_ needed. I’m sorry.” Mickey could hear her voice crack even as the captain pulled her into an embrace and buried his face in her hair. He sidled over to Ianto.

“Can I help?”

Ianto quirked a half smile. “Nah. Just needed the pass code Martha gave,” he said in a low tone, a little choked. “Tosh always liked to make it easy for us.”

 _This_ , Mickey thought, _is a family_. _That’s why Martha can face down Captain Jack and then hug him a minute later. Just like I had with Gran. Both of them._ He patted Ianto’s shoulder and both young men turned to the screen as it pinged.

Jack looked up, then let go of Martha and took her hand, tugging her to the console where Mickey and Ianto stood. He looked over the schematics and strange markings that showed on the screen. “Could work,” Mickey heard him murmur, and then, “Okay. I’ll do it.”

Martha dropped his hand. “No,” she said firmly. “You won’t. _My_ responsibility, Captain Harkness.”

Jack threw up his hands, both literally and metaphorically. “You will at least let me provide you with some safety gear, I trust?” he asked in a snide tone, and Martha smiled at him.

“Dear Jack. Of course I will.” She got up on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “You’re needed here, Jack,” she whispered, and he gave her a short nod.

Then Martha turned to Mickey. “Well? Are you coming?”

 


	3. Elsewhere

_He’s driving me mad_ , Martha thought; _why is he suddenly so protective?_ “Jack, I can’t take all that with me! We’re just going to drop the Key in the Rift at a certain point, and then we’re getting the hell out. I can understand the safety harnesses, in case you need to pull us back, but Jack… a first aid kit? Food supplies? We’re just dropping the Key into the Rift, right?” _Does he really think after all this time that I can’t look after myself?_

“I…” Jack hesitated, which was so unusual it left Martha a bit gobsmacked. He took her by the shoulders to look into her face. “I can read Tosh’s equations better than you can,” he said in an uncharacteristically quiet tone, and his blue eyes searched hers. “We don’t know what could happen, Martha. There are a lot of variables and we just don’t know! I…” He trailed off in a choking sort of way, turned, and disappeared into his office.

“You didn’t see him, Martha,” Gwen said quietly, coming up behind her. “When you used the Project Indigo teleport, and disappeared from the monitors, he was… devastated. Gutted. He just slumped into a corner until PM Jones pulled him out of it.”

“I’ll go talk to him,” Martha said. “Thanks.”

 

-/-

 

Mickey wasn’t privy to whatever went on between Jack and Martha during that conversation, but after that they worked together to get everything Jack thought they needed in small enough packages to keep Martha happy that they weren’t dragging along the kitchen sink. And Martha came out of Jack’s office looking like she’d cried a bit, twisting her fingers together in a way that seemed unlike her.

And then, in a remarkably short time, just one more day, they stood, him and Martha, in black clothes much like the Preachers wore, with lots of pockets full of this and that, and safety harnesses around their upper bodies, to which sturdy nylon climbing ropes were attached. “All the gear is for what, then?” Mickey asked.

“Insurance,” Jack said shortly, then looked guiltily at Martha. “Sorry. There’s a twelve percent chance that it won’t just destroy the Osterhagen Key, but that you and Martha’ll be pulled through to… somewhere, some _when_ else. Still want to go?”

Mickey didn’t have to consider, and Cap’n Jack was watching him like he expected Mickey to back out. Like he wouldn’t really want to do this now. Mickey set his jaw; he wouldn’t give Jack the satisfaction. “Got nothin’ else t’do,” he said, and staggered as Jack slapped him on the back.

“Good man,” was all Jack said, but Mickey felt like he’d passed some sort of test. Like the ones he’d seldom passed with the Doctor. “You ready?”

“Twelve percent?” asked Mickey, and patted his pockets. It was there. Good; if there was _any_ chance he wanted to be ready for it.

He did have contacts in other somewheres.

 

-/-

 

“You don’t have to go, you know.” It was Gwen. “Jack could do it, and be back in time for tea. You know that. So why?”

“My responsibility,” Martha said. “And I’m at loose ends.”

“What, no UNIT? Nor Tom?”

“Tom is  gone,” said Martha, amazed that she could say it without bursting into tears. No matter how much she felt like it, especially since her finger felt naked without its ring. Dammit, she was wringing her hands again. “And as for UNIT, I… I’m not all that sure about them anymore, not after asking me to use this.” She held up the Osterhagen Key and sighed. “So I took all the holidays I’ve got coming. We’ll… have to see what happens next.” She glanced at Mickey, who was talking to Jack.

Gwen saw the look. “Now there’s a pair of boys easy on the eyes,” she said, giggling, and as Ianto joined the other men, she added, “Or three.”

“Shut up,” said Martha affectionately, and hugged Gwen.

 

-/-

 

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

They walked toward the Rift, feeling the play in their safety harnesses of Ianto holding Martha’s line and Jack holding Mickey’s.

Mickey had expected - something. Something more than just a bright light into which Martha was even now holding out the Osterhagen Key. But that was all there was.

Until there wasn’t.

Wasn’t _anything_.

Just Martha’s hand, clutching his tightly, and the light, and nothing else. 

And then they were falling, no, Martha was falling, Mickey had already landed, hard, and Martha was falling, over the edge of… something. He yanked on her hand, and heard a cry, and hauled her up next to him, panting.

When he’d caught his breath, he looked around.

It wasn’t nothing anymore.

They were on a cliff, overlooking a beach, and if Martha had fallen…

But she hadn’t, and Mickey thanked his lucky stars he’d been able to catch her. “You okay?” he asked, and she nodded. But she didn’t look okay; she looked like she was in considerable pain, and he remembered the cry he had heard as he pulled her up. “Martha,” he said slowly, “What happened to your arm?”

“I think,” she began, and hissed with pain as she felt her arm, “That my elbow is dislocated.”

“Oh, God, did I do that to you?” _Shit, she’s hurt and it’s my fault..._

“Better than letting me fall, yeah?” _She sounds breathless, it’s gotta hurt, what do I do?_

He must’ve said it aloud, because she took his hand in her good one. “I need you to reduce the dislocation for me. I’ll show you.” She said it through gritted teeth. _God, I know about electrical burns,_ thought Mickey, _but this…_ So he gritted his own teeth and did as she said, and felt more than heard the sickening _thunk_ of the elbow reseating itself.

Mickey heard the single sob, and a shuddering breath, then, “Thanks.”

“Martha, I didn’t…” _didn’t mean to hurt you..._

“I know. D’you think you could make me a sling? I don’t think I can do it one handed.”

Her voice still sounded tight and a little high, and Mickey jerked his attention away from the guilt and set about making her a sling. “Guess it’s a good thing Cap’n Jack made us take all this stuff after all,” he said as he tied it off, then bent over and pressed his lips gently to the injured elbow  through the fabric. “There. All better.”

“Thanks,” Martha said, and then as Mickey tried to apologise again, continued. “Stop blaming yourself, Mickey; it’ll get well. And…” She looked out over the cliff and shuddered. “It’s certainly better than the alternative.”

Mickey was rummaging through the first aid kit, looking for a painkiller, but Martha put her good hand on his, stopping him, “Can’t take a pill,” she said, “Got too much to do and they make me awfully sleepy.”

“But…”

“No. If we were in Cardiff or London, or hell, even on Messaline or New Earth, I’d say sure. But we don’t know and I need to be ready.”

“For what?”

“For whatever might happen.”

 

-/-

 

“What’s that noise?” Martha asked irritably after several minutes of regaining their bearings. And feeling more bruises forming. “It’s driving me mad. Like a buzzing in the back of my head.” _I didn’t knock my head, it’s just the elbow and some bruises, so what_ is _that noise?_

“Buzzing? Oi!” A grin split Mickey’s face, and he reached into one of the many pockets in his jacket, pulling out a… a mobile phone?  “Martha,” he said in a gleeful voice. “I know where we are.”

Martha waited a beat, then scowled at him. Her elbow ached and she felt cross and here he was, grinning at her like an idiot. “Well? Where are we then?”

Mickey looked stricken. “Sorry,” he said. “If you’d take one of the pain pills, you… never mind. I… we’re on that parallel Earth. I’ve only to make a call and we’ll be safe. And…” He stood up and took a more careful look at the beach below the cliff, then tapped at his mobile. “Dårlig Ulv Stranden. Bad Wolf Bay.”

 _But that means… that…_ “But… Mickey, the Doctor told me, and Jack told me… they told me about the Bad Wolf and Satellite Five and… why _here_? Of all places, why here?”

Mickey helped her to her feet, pointed out across the stretch of beach. “Dunno. But that is Bad Wolf Bay. Maybe the wall between worlds is thinner here or somethin’.” He turned and pointed. “Bergen’s about fifty miles that way. You wanna walk or you want me to phone a friend?”

 _I’m being a bitch because I hurt,_ Martha thought, _but I can’t risk the pain pills, they make me groggy and..._ “Sorry,” she said shortly. “Phone a friend.”

Mickey grinned at her again and tapped at his mobile.

 

-/-

 

Pete was all set to use the teleport they’d developed, but Martha looked pretty badly off to Mickey; she carried herself as though more than just her elbow was hurting. He wasn’t sure the teleport would be safe for her. So they settled down to wait on the ‘copter Pete would fly over. Martha sat with her knees pulled up as though she’d rest her chin on them is it weren’t for the awkward weight of the injured arm. She looked absolutely miserable, and Mickey reached hesitantly out.

“Martha?” She looked up. _No less miserable this way_. Mickey held out the pain pill. “We’re close enough to me own home shore. Trust me to look after you for awhile?”

She looked at him for a long moment, then sighed, winced, and accepted the tablet. “Water?”

He opened it for her, held it to her mouth as she swallowed the pill. “What else hurts? Ribs?”

“Yeah,” Martha said. “Nothing we can do about that here; we’re too exposed. You?”

“Just some bruises. ‘M fine.”

They sat quietly together for awhile, and then the shock and pain and medication caught up to Martha. When she began obviously struggling to stay awake, Mickey got up and spread one of the insulating blankets on the ground and helped her lie down, pillowed her head on a backpack, then put another blanket over her. “Relax,” he suggested. “I’ve got you.”

“But… you might need my help. Don’ lemme fall asl…”

“Shh. I won’t let you fall.”


	4. Loss

_“She’ll be fine, Mickey, quit fretting.”_

_“It was_ one _pill, I swear she only took one, and no concussion, so why…?”_  

_“Dunno - maybe the Rift did something. But… she’s coming ‘round.”_

Martha swam toward consciousness, and opened her eyes to three concerned faces.

“There, you see?” The Doctor - the Doctor?! - said. “She’ll be fine.”

Martha blinked. ( _Don’t blink,_ she thought confusedly, _blink and you’re_ …) “I… Doctor, you’re…”

“Here? Suave? Brilliant? Good-looking? I know.” He grinned at her.

“Wait,” she said, not quite able to focus. There was something… odd about the Doctor. Odder than usual.

_Blue_

_And dark red_

_Oh!_

“You’re the other one, yeah?” Her mind was getting clearer by the moment. “The meta-crisis one. And that means…”

“That the me you know dropped us here and left, yes.” _This one’s eyes are happier than the other’s,_ Martha thought, and watched as this Doctor and Rose grinned at each other. _Besotted_ , she thought. _Utterly besotted_.

She was happy for them.

Mostly.

Martha struggled to sit up, and between the bruised ribs and the arm in a sling, welcomed Mickey’s supporting arm. “Where are we?”

Rose looked away from the Doctor - _do we call him the Doctor here? Martha wondered_ \- and smiled at Martha. “I’ll go check on dad,” she said, and disappeared through a door.

“It’s a ‘copter,” Mickey said, “But it’s based on the airship tech they have in this uh…”

“Dimension,” put in the Doctor, “And they won’t let me fly it without passing their little test. I ask you, been kicking around the universe for nine hundred years in a blue box and they think I can’t manage a… what?” He paused, looking at them smiling at him. “What?”

“You’re so…” Mickey began.

“Happy,” Martha said softly. “And I’m glad of it.”

The Doctor took her left hand - the good one - in his. “That’s what makes you _you_ , Martha Jones. And… what’s this?” He pulled her hand closer to inspect it. “Oh, Martha,” he said sadly, meeting her eyes.

Martha flinched and pulled her hand away, but she didn’t look away from the deep dark eyes. “We’d… quarrelled a couple weeks before the reality bomb and all. But I was… I’d hoped we could… but after, it was too late, He…”

“I’m sorry. I’m so, _so_ sorry.” He meant it, she knew. But she hadn’t the energy to deal with much more just now, so she smiled.

“Thanks, Doctor. Do we call you Doctor here?”

“Well… Doctor John Smith, all those papers and licenses and such had to have _something_ , so it’s Doctor John Smith,” and he was off again, babbling in the way he used to do, and Martha welcomed the reprieve. She shared an amused glance with Mickey, and he reached down and patted the hand she’d pulled away from the Doctor’s.

The Doctor - _John Smith, I must remember that, though…_ she shuddered… _I’d rather not, after all that happened in 191_ 3 - kept babbling, and Martha was comforted by the familiar sound, and the friendly, warm pressure of Mickey’s hand on hers.

 

-/-

 

 _Didn’t realise she took off the ring,_ thought Mickey, _no wonder she was wringing her hands all the time, finger must feel naked._ It was kind of nice, letting the Doctor’s - Boss’s - what the hell, John Smith’s voice wash over him when they weren’t running for their lives or crashing into buildings or… or saving the universe with a big yellow truck.

Then he heard the Doctor say something that made him go cold all over. “ _That boy, Jake Something. Simon, Simmonds, something like that. Good kid, but we lost him - killed in that mission just after we got back; been back for three months in this universe, you know. Oh and that other one, the ginger one, he_ …” and he was off again.

“Mickey? You okay?” Martha tugged on his hand, and he belatedly realised he was squeezing hers much too tightly.

He let go. “What? Yeah, ‘m good.” _No, I’m not, Jake is gone and it’s my fault, I_ … “Oh look,” Mickey made himself say brightly, “We’re comin’ in for a landing.”

And Rose came back into the cabin and she and the boss helped Martha look out as they landed.

 _But nobody_ , Mickey thought bitterly, _notices the tin dog is lost._

 

-/-

 

 _Something’s wrong with Mickey_ , Martha thought, _and whatever it is, it happened on the airship._

And the people who’d known him for years - Jackie and Rose and Pete - didn’t seem to notice. Granted, Martha herself’d only known him for a few days, but they’d been _intense_ days, and she felt she knew him as well as anyone. Maybe it was that for them it’d been months since they’d seen him.

Martha was a little shaky as they got off the airship, but she felt okay. They all sat down to a big, noisy family meal, putting her between the D-- John Smith and Mickey. It was all very domestic and tiring, but everyone was very kind, and after the dinner they went to a lab that Pete and the Doctor had put together in the basement of the huge house.

The Tylers had gone off someplace, and they’d brought in a medical doctor from this universe’s Torchwood to look over Martha and Mickey. “Separated elbow,” the woman said, “and bruised ribs. But I’d imagine you know that. Why the exhaustion? You look as though you’d run a marathon after the fall you took.”

“I think I know,” said a quiet voice, Mickey’s. The Doctor raised his eyebrows and the doctor raised hers likewise. Martha leaned toward Mickey.

“Yeah?” She reached out with her good hand, the left one, and took his.

“Yeah. You gotta figure you're as fit as me or even more, yeah? So why’d we go through the same thing an’ you come out so much worse off?” Martha nodded.

Mickey nodded at the hand in the sling. “I was holdin’ that hand, yer right, that’s why it got separated ‘cause I pulled hard so you wouldn’t go over the cliff, and in yer left you had the Osterhagen Key.”

“Of course!” The Doctor all but shouted it, and grabbed Mickey and hugged him. “Mickey Smith, you are brilliant, no more Mickey the Idiot, never again, cross my hearts.”

“Yeah, thanks, Boss.”

“D’you mind,” Martha said, feeling a bit cranky about the whole thing, “Explaining why me holding the Key made a difference?”

“Wel-ll…” Oh, god, he was enjoying this. “It was just a machine, right? But it’s got a self-preservation circuit built in of course; it’s only meant to be destroyed if it takes a planet with it. But you, Martha Jones, you took it into the one place it couldn’t withstand, and how’d you get the proper co-ordinates? Not sure Jack could’ve pulled that off on his own, for all he’s wrong in time and space, but maybe…” He trailed off, obviously trying to figure it out, and Martha rolled her eyes at Mickey.

Mickey didn’t seem to notice. He looked as lost in thought as the Doctor did.

“Toshiko, did it, Doctor. John.” She made herself say it, but it felt wrong.

“Oh, hmm, yes, if any human in the 21st century could manage, it’d’ve been her. Brilliant girl, too bad she…” He looked at Martha’s stony expression and stopped. “Right. Well. The Key would have tried to pull energy to replace what the Rift was taking from it, and you were the only thing with any accessible energy near enough. You were holding it after all, and--”

“Great,” said Mickey shortly. “She’ll be well again then?”

“Oh, certainly,” said the Doctor. “Couple good nights’ sleep and she’ll be right as rain. Though why rain is so right, I don’t know. D’you remember, Martha, how wrong the rain was the day we met? It went--”

“Doctor,” Martha interrupted, “I still need the first of those good nights’ sleeps.” _And I’ll go mad if I have to listen to any more right now_. “D’you think they could find a bed for me in this place?”

 

-/-

 

They found a bedroom for her, next door to the one they usually kept for Mickey, and he didn’t know whether to be amused or outraged. Oh well, at least if she had another nightmare, she’d know where to find him. Though she hadn’t had last night, just that first night back in Cardiff, and was that really only two nights ago?

It seemed like a lifetime had gone by in those two days.

_And now Jake…_

“What is it, Mickey?”

Mickey started. He hadn’t even heard her come in.

“May I?” Martha gestured toward the bed, and Mickey nodded. She sat down and took his hands in hers. Her hands were so _warm_.

“Are you ill?”

She smiled at him. “No. Your hands are just cold. Can you tell me?”

“I…” Mickey was a little horrified to find that he had tears in his eyes, but Martha just pulled his head down to her good shoulder. “My fault,” Mickey said, voice muffled against the soft skin of her neck.

“What is?”

“Jake. He’s dead.” And then it all came pouring out of him, how he’d told the Doctor, the other one, that there was nothing for him in this world anymore, certainly not Rose, and he hadn’t even _thought_ about Jake, and he was meant to watch Jake’s back and he wasn’t here, and you heard this Doctor, the John Smith one, he said Jake was killed on a mission right after they got back here and…

“It’s my fault,” Mickey said again.

“No. It’s not.” Martha was firm.

Mickey’s head came up. “Right, yeah, the same way it’s not yours when Tom… or the Torchwood bloke, Owen?”

“Exactly the same way, Mickey,” Martha said, and stroked his forehead with one thumb. “We know it’s not our fault in our heads, but our hearts can’t quite believe it.”

“Martha? Don’t go.”

She gave him a long and measuring look. “Comrades in arms?”

“Yeah.”

Budge over then.”


	5. Trust

There was a quiet knock at the door, and Rose poked her head in. She did not look surprised to find Martha in Mickey’s room - and his bed - but put a finger to her lips and beckoned.

Martha got up.

Mickey slept the deep and depressed sleep of the grieving.

After Martha slipped out of the room, Rose closed the door behind her. “Breakfast?” she asked, and smiled.

“That’d be brilliant,” replied Martha, wondering what this was all about.

The two of them were alone in the big kitchen, and Martha watched Rose a bit warily as the blonde girl puttered about with toast and jam and tea.

“So…” Rose put a mug of tea in front of Martha and sat down. “I saw you last night. In Mickey’s room, I mean.”

“I…” Martha wrapped her good hand around her mug to give it something to do. _Be very careful here, Martha,_ she thought. “Is that a problem for you?”

Rose looked startled, and then thoughtful. “No,” she said, and smiled over her tea at Martha. “It might have done once, because Mickey and I were…” she trailed off.

“Childhood sweethearts?” Martha suggested, and then - as she had with Mickey - she suddenly felt that Rose was a friend, and the two women grinned at each other.

“Yeah, ‘zactly.”

“I don’t actually have designs on Mickey, you know… it’s just…” Martha didn’t know how to finish the sentence, so she trailed off and sipped at her tea.

“Hm… you’ve had a few days of it, you pair, yeah? Intense.” Rose laughed. “He’s sure a lot more intense now than when we were kids.” Then she sobered. “That’s why I went lookin’ for him, y’know. When I realised that John’d just _told_ ‘im about Jake in one of his babbling sessions, without so much as a ‘sorry,’ well… look, I’m fond of Mickey, an’ I always will be. I’m glad he has someone who cares about him.” She shook her head. “You may not have designs… but you could do worse.”

Martha figured she’d better be completely honest. “I do care,” she said, “And he’s… interesting. But, Rose, it’s only been about four days since we met, and speaking of intense…”

“I keep forgetting that,” Rose admitted, “That’s only been a few days, I mean. And what happened to your fiancé; I was sorry to hear it from John.”

Martha did not want to talk about Tom, so she seized the opportunity to change the subject. “How do you _do_ that? Call him John, I mean.”

“It’s that time difference again,” said Rose. “It took me _weeks_ to be comfy with it, an’ it’s only been a couple days since you saw ‘em both together.” She sighed, but it seemed amused to Martha. “‘Sides, this one’s a bit different to the original.”

 

-/-

 

When Mickey woke, the Doctor was perched on the bed next to him, and far too close for comfort. He had clearly been there for some time, because he was staring intently at Mickey ( _like a cat wanting breakfast,_ Mickey thought) and fidgeting.

 _Must know in the back of me mind that he’s not a danger_ , Mickey thought, _or he’d’ve woken me right away_.

“Ah,” said the Doctor. “Good morning. Sorry.”

“Sorry, what?”

“I forgot,: the Doctor said, as though this explained everything. He must have registered Mickey’s blank look, because he rushed on.” “I forgot, or I never knew, or something. About you, and Jake Simon--”

“Simmonds,” Mickey corrected. “And are you _apologising_? For somethin’... like somethin’ personal that’s not about a whole species?” He shook his head. “I’m not awake, Boss, just… gimme a minute?”

“‘Course.” The Doctor sat, smiling a half-smile at Mickey and watching him intently.

Mickey waited. Then he shook his head again. “That means, ‘could you leave for a few minutes so I can get my head together before we talk?’”

“Oh! Right, brilliant. I’ll be just outside,” said the Doctor, and left the room.

He did not close the door, and Mickey sighed. _Right then_ , he thought, and got out of bed. He shut the door in the Doctor’s face, not caring one bit how offended the man looked, and went into the en suite to wash up and change.

He decided in the process that it wasn’t really the Doctor’s - or John Smith’s or whatever you called him here - wasn’t really his fault. _Tryin’ to be as human as he can_ , Mickey figured, amused, _an’ I’ll keep it in mind. ‘Cause it’s gonna get weird_.

And weird it was, because when he opened the door, the Doctor was standing just outside it, staring fixedly at it. “I’m sorry,” the Doctor said again, “Were you lovers?”

Mickey started to laugh; he couldn’t help himself. He took the Doctor by one arm and guided him to a bench, pushed him gently onto it. “Look,” he said, “I get that you’re tryin’ t’be more human, but you can’t just go sayin’ things like that. You’re still… I dunno… way ahead and ya gotta let the humans catch you up, right?” The Doctor nodded earnestly. “Right, so. No, Jake was not my lover. He was my… my brother, I s’pose. Like you and that ginger woman, Donna.”

The Doctor looked stricken, as though Mickey had slapped him. “Oh, Mickey. I _am_ sorry. So, so sorry, I--”

 _What did I say…?_ “‘Sokay, Boss. C’mon. Let’s go find the ladies.”

 

-/-

 

“I think it was the dancer calling it “into musical theatre” that was the most hilarious thing, actually,” Martha was saying. Rose was laughing so hard there were tears running down her face. “Oh, and even though it was terrifying at the time, the pub quiz door codes were pretty good too.”

Rose’s face was, well, rosy with laughter, and she gasped out, “Mickey wanted to know what a horse was doing on a spaceship, and the Doctor said, “What’s pre-Revolutionary France doing on a spaceship? Get a little perspective.” I thought I’d die laughing.”

“Oi! I was… new at the travellin’ with the Doctor thing back then,” said Mickey as he and the Doct-- John came into the kitchen. _He looks more amused than upset_ , Martha thought, _and certainly not as… devastated as he had been in the night._

“First trip out,” John agreed, and _he_ looked upset; he had that expression on that meant he was faking cheer. The one that was so sad underneath no matter how manic he acted, that Martha was reminded of soldiers with PTSD back from the Middle East. Only worse.

Rose went to him and drew him down to whisper in his ear. He nodded solemnly, and Martha watched as Rose engulfed his skinny form in a tight hug. “‘M sorry,” Martha heard Rose murmur into the unruly hair, and Martha looked away.

 _Now_ Mickey looked upset, unsure, and Martha squeezed his hand as he came to stand near her, then tugged gently until they were outside the room, giving John and Rose some privacy. “What happened?”

Mickey shrugged. “Dunno - he was fine, usual weird self, askin’ questions and tryin’ hard to act human. He asked… he asked if Jake and me, if we were lovers. I told him no, we were brothers, like him and the ginger woman, Donna, and that’s when he clammed up. I didn’t mean…”

“Of course you didn’t. They were very close, and he probably misses her terribly; it’s been three months for him, and that must be _ages_ for a Time Lord, even one who’s mostly human now. I like Donna very much, and he… it really _was_ like she was his sister.” Martha kissed Mickey’s cheek and smiled at him.

“It’s worse than that,” said Rose, as she closed the kitchen door carefully behind her. “Don’t worry; I’ve sent him off to the lab. He’ll be okay. But it’s worse than just missing her.”

“How? I mean it; I like Donna,” Martha said soberly. “Did something happen to her after we left, before you came back here?”

Rose sighed. “Not then, but after the beach, she… John says the Doctor would have to…” she broke off and shuddered, and Mickey pulled both girls over to a bench and sat down between them on it. Rose took a deep breath. “John says that the Time Lord memories would have been too much for Donna, like the Bad Wolf ones were for me. But he wouldn’t just be able to take them and regenerate, like my first Doctor did. He’d have to… he’d have to take them from her, all of them…”

Martha was appalled. “But… oh, God, he’d have to take everything, wouldn’t he?” Now it was her turn to shiver. “All of it, everything since they’d met, the TARDIS and the Doctor and… oh, _God…_ ” She barely registered a warm male arm curving around her shoulders as she struggled with the horror of it all. “That’s… no wonder he was upset, I…”

“I didn’t mean to hurt him, Rose,” Mickey was saying, and Martha felt the arm around her tense and heard the raw pain in his voice. But Rose was reassuring him; of course he hadn’t meant it, he hadn’t known, couldn’t have known, and the three of them sat on the little bench in the corridor, grieving for their friend and his loss.

 

-/-

 

“My go to be sorry, Boss,” said Mickey, and the Doctor turned and smiled at him.

“Not really,” he said, “You couldn’t have known. **_I_** don’t know, not for certain. But I think he’d have to… right, well.”

“Martha’s takin’ it really hard, she really liked Donna, an’ she knew her better than me or Rose did.” Mickey realised he was talking like Donna was dead, but he didn’t know how else to say it, and the Doctor was still smiling at him.

“Well then,” the Doctor said, “You’d better go see what you can do for her, yeah?”

“Me? But…”

“She trusts you, Mickey. You looked after her when she was hurt but you’re willing to let her be the brilliant person she is, and you’re not…” the Doctor spread his hands. “You’re not jealous of how strong she is. That was the problem with Tom, you know.”

“When did you get to be so wise about humans, Boss?”

“I’m not. But I’m getting there. And as for when?” The Doctor smiled again. “When I became human, of course. And I can thank Donna and Rose for that.”


	6. Cyber

Martha did not look up as Mickey entered her room. “At least this time I know it’s not my fault,” she said in a broken sort of voice, and Mickey winced as he came to sit beside her on the little sofa at the end of her bed.

“Nor mine, ‘cept for reminding the D… John.” He put his arm around her and kissed the top of her head. “C’mon; we gotta do somethin’ OK? Not just sit and…”

Martha sniffled. “Yeah, s’pose so.” She stood. “Thanks, Mickey,” she said, and bent over to kiss his cheek. “Go on; I’ve got to get dressed.”

Mickey left, but he loitered outside her room as she washed and changed. She wouldn’t want his help, but she might need someone’s, what with bruised ribs and a bad arm; he’d be nearby if she needed him to call anyone.

That’s where Jackie found him, and - sort of uncharacteristically - she just wrapped her arms around him and held on, even as little Tony pulled at her legs. “Mum,” the little boy said, and “Unca Mickey,” and Mickey felt a lump in his throat. It wasn’t just Jake; he _did_ have people here; Jackie and Pete and Tony if no-one else. For just an instant Mickey felt guilty for brushing them off as nothing, just as he had Jake, but then he realised that it didn’t matter. They cared and that’s all that counted.

“All right then?” Jackie’s voice was soft, which wasn't at all her usual, and Mickey stepped back to look at her.

“Yeah. ‘M good now. Thanks."

She gave him a light shove. “Any time.”

The door opened behind them and Martha stopped when she saw them. “Oh,” she said. “Sorry, I’ll give you some privacy…” She waved the sling she was holding vaguely in the direction of the room she had just exited.

“Tony, you and Uncle Mickey go to the nursery. Mummy’ll be right there,” Jackie said, and patted her son on the head. Then she turned to Martha. “Now let’s look after that arm, shall we?”

Mickey grinned inwardly. _Good old Jackie,_ he thought, _she’ll suss out anything she needs to know_. “C’mon, matey,” he said to Tony, picking the child up and settling him on his shoulders. “Let’s go down the nursery.”

 

-/-

 

“Come on now, dear, let’s get those ribs looked after, and the arm.”

“I…” Martha began, but Jackie just ran right over her, tut-tutting as she slipped the blouse off and got a good look at the bruises.

“Right then,” Jackie said, deftly and gently wrapping a bandage tight around Martha’s ribs and easing the shirt back onto her arms. She sat Martha down, rolled up the right sleeve over the injury and produced a brightly coloured scarf, which she used as a sling. She tied it off and patted it, then eased back to admire her handiwork.

Martha was a little overwhelmed and more than a little impressed. From all she’d heard about domestics and such from the Doctor, well.... “You’re not at all what I expected,” she said without thinking, and Jackie smiled at her, sitting on the settee beside her.

“‘M a pretty good field medic, these days,” Jackie said, with pardonable pride, “And the Doctor - John, I mean - if he’s the one what told you what I’m like, well… let’s just say we’ve come to terms, him an’ me.” She sighed, and lowered her hands from the air quotes she’d used around _what I’m like_. “He loves my Rose, an’ now he’s human, or at least he’s got just the one life, he can say so, an’ he can stay with her. An’ he makes my Rose happy. That’s enough for me.” It was said simply, and Martha laid her good hand on Jackie’s.

“You’re a good mum, Jackie,” she said, and squeezed the older woman’s hand. “To all three of your kids.”

“Oh, no,” Jackie said, laughing, “Just ‘cause he’s married to my daughter - sort of - don’t mean a 900-year-old alien counts as my third kid. I’m too young for _that_!”

“I didn’t mean the Doctor,” said Martha. “Or John or whatever you call him. I meant Mickey. You’re his mum in every way that counts.”

Jackie just looked at Martha for a moment, blue eyes filling, and then she smiled an absolutely brilliant smile and beamed at the younger woman. “What a lovely thing to say.” Her voice had gone high, Martha noted, and it cracked on the last word.

“Only the truth,” said Martha, feeling her own eyes fill, and the two of them sat contentedly together until Rose came to knock on the door.

 

-/-

 

Mickey was playing aeroplane with Tony when Pete came to get him.

And when they got to the lab in the cellar, everyone was there but Martha, and Mickey was a little surprised at how bereft he felt. It wasn’t like he didn’t know these people, like they weren’t his family, but he was down because…

And then she opened the door and came out of the exam room, followed by the Torchwood doctor. She looked around and flashed him a wide smile, and he thought _I’m in trouble now_. The arch look that he caught Rose giving him suggested that she saw it too.

 _Too soon_ , he thought, _it’s still too soon. Only a few days, and she just lost her fiancé and…_

 _...and she’s bloody gorgeous, and brilliant and kind and..._  

“...Cybercentre. Mickey?”

“What?” Mickey wrenched his attention back to what Pete was saying, and found the older man looking at him with concern. “Sorry,” Mickey said, and shook his head. “I was--”

“Too soon,” Jackie interrupted, and startled Mickey with the echo of his own thoughts. “Jake’s only been gone a day or so to Mickey, and he needs time to--”

“--I don’t!” Mickey turned to Jackie. “Thanks, but I can’t just sit here and do nothin’ if there’s a way to get… to get…”

“Justice,” Martha murmured, and Mickey nodded.

“Yeah. I can’t bring ‘im back but I can get whatever he was after when he… when they got ‘im. So he didn’t die for noth…” and at that point Mickey felt his throat clog and he couldn’t say any more.

Martha crossed to him and patted his arm, then slid her good hand down to his and squeezed. “If you tell me what this Cybercentre is, and where it is, and why you need to get into it; maybe I can help. We don’t all know the history of this dimension.”

“We sent Jake and that ginger Welsh boy - Glyn _(because I wasn’t here,_ thought Mickey _, they sent him in with that bleeding kid because I wasn't here)_ \- in to take out the Cyberchief in the hope that the whole Scottish operation of the Cybers would go down.” Pete Tyler was very serious. “There aren’t a lot of ‘em left, the Cybers, but a few here and there. Mickey here’s been fighting them for years.”

“And we need to get into it,” put in the Doctor, or John Smith, “Because they have this dimension’s Osterhagen Key.”

 

-/-

 

There was a moment of shocked silence, and then Martha heard herself say, faintly, “Well then. I suppose we don’t have to fret about it being too soon for Mickey. We can’t leave until my ribs and arm are healed.” _There is no way he’s going in there alone_ , she thought. She had felt the way he had tensed all over, felt the pulse in the hand she held speed up, when Pete Tyler had said Jake’s name. He was still terribly upset.

“You don’t have to do this,” Mickey muttered, and Martha squeezed his hand.

“I think I do,” she said softly, and turned to the man she still thought of as the Doctor. “I won’t be able to get home without the Osterhagen Key, will I? So I need to help get it.”

He spread his hands. “I haven’t finished running the calculations yet,” he admitted. “But I think yes, you will need it to get to your home universe.” Smiling down at Rose as she slipped an arm around his waist, he murmured, “Can’t go burning up stars all the time.” He turned back to Martha and Mickey, and she caught a flicker of something sad again. “No coincidences in time travel, or dimensional travel for that matter. Maybe Jake and Glyn _had_ to fail - a fixed point ( _why did his voice crack in pain just there_ , Martha wondered) - so you could get the Key and go back home.”

Even as she felt a wash of guilt over that, Martha felt Mickey tense again, and he stepped up to the Doctor. John Smith. Belligerently. “It’s not her fault,” he nearly snarled, and the Doctor looked a little shocked, and then apologetic.

“No, it’s not. It’s down to the universe. Multiverse.” He sighed. “I didn’t mean it like that. You both know it. But I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He held Mickey’s angry gaze, and then the younger man stepped back, muttering something that Martha didn’t quite hear, because surely it wasn’t actually _that’s how she’ll take it_.

Because Mickey didn’t know her that well, did he?

 

-/-

 

“How’s the arm?” Mickey leaned against the door frame of Martha’s room that evening. She was sitting up in bed, looking at a book the Torchwood doctor had lent her.

“Better,” she said, “If it keeps going at this rate we’ll be off to take down the Cyberchief Tuesday next.”

Mickey shifted uncomfortably. Hadn’t someone - Gwen or Jack or Ianto - said something about increased healing factor? “I thought you healed extra quick,” he said, “Someone at Torchwood Three said so.”

Martha nodded. “Yes, but it’s only for infection - white blood cells. Not inflammation like this.” She cocked her head at him. “That bothers you?” She sounded suddenly very sad.

 _Oh. Right, the Pharm and Owen… she told me…shit, I didn’t mean..._ “No,” Mickey said hastily. “I just… I should know any strengths and weaknesses, yeah?” He tried a grin, but he knew that it probably looked as ghastly and false as it felt. “We’re comrades in arms.”

“Yes. We are.” She looked at him for a long moment. “And friends, I hope. I… don’t go.” _Oh, God,_ Mickey thought, _I hope so._ But she was still sitting there looking at him, and she looked so, _so_ sad. He hadn’t meant…

“All right,” Mickey said, and sat beside her. “Budge over.”

 

 


	7. Understanding

It became a pattern, a comforting ritual over the week that Martha’s ribs and elbow healed. One of them would say _don’t go_ , and the other would say _budge over then,_ and they would sleep, each knowing safety from guilt-driven nightmares for that night.

They did nothing but hold each other, and sleep, and everyone knew it.

Just as everyone but Martha - even the usually oblivious Doctor John Smith - saw that Mickey was falling, and falling fast.

He thought that maybe Martha _did_ see, but kept quiet because she wasn’t ready, what with Tom and guilt and homesickness. Too soon, he thought, and then it was Tuesday next, and time to get the Key.

“Are you _sure_ you want to come with me?”Mickey had asked her, wondering vaguely what was different about her hair.  “I could…”

Martha reached up to hug him (now her arm was out of the sling, had been for a few days) and whispered in his ear. “I want to help,” she said, “Please let me help.”

Well, bugger, how was he meant to say no to that? He knew that if it looked like he didn’t think she could look after herself, it would hurt her. And he _did_ know she could look after herself.

He just didn’t want her to have to.

And then it turned out they couldn’t go, not yet, because some scanner or another had determined that the Cyberchief had moved, and taken the Key with it.

Time for a meeting then, another one.

At least this one was held over one of those big family dinners. Mickey always enjoyed the Doctor mouthing the word _domestic_ at him across the table when he thought no-one was looking. Then he’d grin from ear to ear as Rose or her mother threw soft bread rolls at his head.

Family was like that sometimes.

 

-/-

 

“I don’t understand,” said Jackie, “Why they’ve not just used the Key thing and been done with it. If they’ve had it this whole time…”

Martha knew, or thought she did, but she wanted to hear what the others would say, so she just listened. Pete spoke up from his seat to Martha’s right. “Because they want to control the place, Jacks, not destroy it,” he said, and his voice was hard. Then he softened, looking fondly at his wife across the table. “We’ve only got to get the one and they’ll be off the island entirely. Don’t know where it’s gone though; just it’s not in that Highland fortress anymore.” He sighed with frustration as the Doctor entered the room.

“Found ‘em!” _Oh Go_ d, thought Martha, _in full-on manic mode, is he?_ “They’re not up in the North anymore, they’re considerably further south, in Cardiff in fact, and what is it about aliens in Cardiff; there’s not even a Rift in this dimension, but the aliens are still there. Of course the Cybermen in this dimension aren't exactly aliens, they’re more like inventions, robots, or maybe--”

“Where in Cardiff, John?” Pete interrupted, but it was in a patient tone, one that Martha recognised as having come out of her own mouth a time or two. And the Doctor gave him one of those manic grins.

“You’ll never guess,” he began gleefully, and suddenly Martha _knew_.

“Oh no,” she said, and the Doctor aimed the grin at her.

“ _Oh_ , yes!”

“This world’s equivalent of the Torchwood Three Hub,” Martha said numbly.

The Doctor’s grin turned positively smug. “No coincidences in time travel.”

 

-/-

 

“We must wait,” Pete said, and everyone but Mickey and Martha concurred. _Even the Boss is cautious,_ Mickey thought, _that never happens._

“Why?” Mickey asked. “ Martha knows that place inside and out!”

“She knows it in her home universe,” Pete said patiently as though Martha wasn’t there. Being treated the same way they treated the Doctor’s enthusiasms - with a patient sort of amusement - set Mickey’s teeth on edge. Martha seemed equally annoyed; she was tense beside him, but aside from twisting her hands - under the table where no-one but him could see - you’d never know it. “All we know for sure about _this_ Hub is the new Cyberchief is there. Oh, and this Cyberchief started out female before conversion and she only got half-converted; ah…” he checked his notes. “Here’s a picture,” he said and passed it around.

Mickey felt Martha tense even more, and he took her hand under the table.

“I think it would be the same,” she said, her voice low but surprisingly bitter, “Because ‘there are no coincidences in time travel.’ Are there?” She let go Mickey’s hand, shoved her chair back and stood, voice rising. “I’ve been in worse situations. All over the bloody world and with the Family of Blood and in the Pharm and… excuse me,” she said, voice breaking, and fled.

Mickey made as if to follow her, and so did the Doctor, but Rose stood up. “Let me,” she said, and both men sat.

After Rose left the room, Mickey noticed the Doctor looked… lost, broken, the way he had when he’d been reminded of Donna. He tilted his head at the other man, and got a slow nod. They finished their meals silently and excused themselves.

“What?” Mickey asked.

“I didn’t know,” John said in a faint voice. “ I mean, I knew about walking the earth, she did that for _me_ , and she - I didn’t know who I was and she looked after me... and- and I knew she’d gone to Torchwood to help them out - she and Jack are friends - but I didn't _know_.”

“She and Jack are family,” Mickey corrected, “And Gwen and Ianto and the two who died, Toshiko and Owen.”

“Mickey, she… when she traveled with me there were terrible things.”

“There are always terrible things,” Mickey said wryly.

“Yes, but… with Martha… she was _alone_.” The Doctor sounded miserable. “The others worked with me, did things for me, but Martha was on her own for that whole year, and in 1913, and after, she was the only one who could remember. Who heals the healer?”

 

-/-

 

Martha paced in her room, trying to get the brush through her hair. How the _hell_ was she supposed to cope, with no buggering damn coincidences in time travel? And now none in dimension travel either, and it was all a bloody mess, she couldn’t… how…

There was a tap on the door, and Martha didn’t even think; she reacted by hurling the hairbrush at the door, narrowly missing Rose as the blonde woman poked her head in.

Rose ducked and actually _grinned_ at her, and Martha sank to the settee and buried her face in her hands, torn between laughter and tears.

“Oi, don’t do that,” Rose said, and she sounded concerned and a little embarrassed, and not at all angry or annoyed. Martha looked up as the blonde crossed the room to sit beside her. “Budge over,” she said, and handed Martha the hairbrush.

“I’m s--” Martha began, but Rose shook her head so vehemently that she didn’t finish.

“Don’t be. You’ve had a rough time of it. Everyone gets a bit of temper.” She smiled rather whimsically. “D’you know I’m jealous of your hair? Such lovely texture. Mine just hangs there. Turn round.”

Bemused, Martha complied, and turned her back on Rose, handing the hairbrush back when the younger girl held out a hand. “You can have it,” she muttered, and then she sighed as Rose began to gently run the brush through the disordered curls. “What sort of… oh, that feels nice, thanks… what sort of high tech planet hasn’t got hair straighteners? Or relaxer solution? I’ve always been able to find relaxer solution...”

“Even during the Year that Never Was? No, don’t go all tense again, we’re having girl time to relax you.”

“I’m just so frustrated!” It’d been so long since someone had taken care of her for anything but medical, except… no, mustn’t think about Mickey, that was different, mutual comfort and… so long since someone had looked after her, even something as simple as brushing her hair…

“I’m sure Mickey’d be happy to take care of that frustration,” Rose said with mischief in her voice.

“I didn't mean… I…” Martha started to turn, but Rose gripped her shoulders quite firmly and stopped her.

“I know. Doesn't mean it’s not true. Now hold still. I’ll get Dad on the question of relaxer solution, but in the meantime…”

“Rose?”

“Hmm?”

“I was awfully jealous of you,” Martha admitted, even as she leaned into the gentle strokes of Rose’s fingers in her hair.

“Oh, well then, you should’ve seen me and Sarah Jane Smith.” Rose was very matter-of-fact but there was a little chuckle in her voice. “We all like to think we’re the one, you know, that’ll make him stop running forever. It’s hard when you realise it’s not so.” Her fingers paused as she sighed. “I expect it’s harder for you, ‘cause you’re very like him.”

“Like who? The Doctor? You’re joking.” This time Martha did turn to look at Rose, and found the blonde girl looking soberly at her.

“No, I’m not. You both feel responsible for things that aren’t your fault, and neither of you are good at giving responsibility to others. You feel guilty even for being relieved when others _want_ to take some of the load off. Must come with the title of ‘doctor’.” She turned Martha back around, and put her fingers back in Martha’s hair.”What was it at dinner that made you snap so? That picture of the half-Cyber?”

Martha sighed. Rose was right. But it had been so _long_ since anyone had understood she wasn’t sure how to cope. Rose nudged her, and she realised that the younger girl really did want to know, so she began to speak. “I’d a cousin,” Martha said, “Adeola, and she worked at Torchwood at Canary Wharf.”

“Oh,” Rose said in a tone suggesting something had just clicked. Martha wondered why for a moment, but then remembered that Rose had been at Canary Wharf. “You must’ve looked a lot alike.”

“We did, like sisters more than cousins. She had a friend called Lisa, who worked with her. We’d go clubbing, Lisa and Adeola and Tish and me, ‘til I got too busy and Lisa started dating Ianto Jones, who worked there too.” She heard Rose’s soft intake of breath and took a deep and shuddering one of her own. “Far as I know Lisa was killed at Canary Wharf. She’s certainly not with Ianto now. But if this half-Cyber is this universe’s equivalent, then I hate to think what happened to the Lisa I knew in the other one.”


	8. Don't Go (Redux)

“He does love you, you know,” said Rose softly as she continued to fuss with Martha’s hair.

“I told you, it’s too soon, my fiancé just died a couple of weeks ago, and I…”

“Not Mickey, silly. The Doctor. John.” Martha shook her head and Rose let go, then came around to look the older girl in the face. “He _does_. He’d never say it, just as he’d never apologise for the way he treated you. And Jack.” Rose’s expression hardened for just a moment. “But he _does_ love you, just as he does Donna.”

Martha noted that Rose still spoke of Donna in the present tense, and wondered if that was deliberate.

“He loves us all, doesn’t he?” Martha said it softly, and Rose nodded.

“He does. Like nieces and nephews, most of ‘em, and he’s the mad uncle who takes you out for an ice-cream and returns you to your terrified mum a week later.” Rose smiled at Martha and moved back around behind her. She put her fingers back into Martha’s hair. “But there’s some, like you and Donna and Sarah Jane Smith, maybe even Jack, who he… I dunno… trusts more. Like his brothers and sisters, or his children.”

“The Children of Time,” Martha said, and gave a sort of shiver. Rose put a calming hand on her shoulder and she subsided. “There are some he… treats as _less_ too. Like pets.”

“You mean Mickey. He did, at first. Not anymore. No more tin dog,and you heard him say it yourself. ‘No more Mickey the Idiot.” Rose sighed. “I could wish it had taken them less time to be friends.”

“And Jack.” Martha couldn't help the shudder this time. “Though Jack forgave him during the Year.” She felt her throat closing, and he hand on her shoulder squeezed once.

“Well, I haven’t. How dare he abandon Jack there?” Rose was indignant, and although Martha knew that Jack was okay about it now - he’d talked to her when there had been no-one else - she smiled at the blonde girl in sympathy.

“Rose? What you said before about the title of doctor? I think that was part of it.” Martha took a deep breath and Rose’s fingers resumed the fussing with her hair. “You know, by human standards, the Doctor is, well, a madman. He’s manic-depressive, suffering from post traumatic stress, and probably sociopathic. By human standards. And he _looks_ human…”

“...Or we look Time Lord,” Rose said, and Martha could hear the smile.

“Right. And the doctor part of me - ‘specially when I was still a student… that part wants to fix broken people. I think that was part of the attraction. ‘Cause I still feel that part of it, but not the… the fancy, you know?”

“Mmm…” Rose made a noncommittal humming noise of agreement, and took Martha by the shoulders. “There you are then,” she said with satisfaction as she smiled at Martha in the mirror. “D’you like it?”

Martha took in the little braids all over her head and the long swing of them at her jaw line, and threw her arms around Rose. “I love it.”

The two girls sat on the settee, cheek to cheek, and looked at their reflections in the mirror, grinning.

 

-/-

 

“I just wanted to apologise,” Martha said to Pete, though everyone was there in the parlour. Mickey watched the new braids swinging past her ears and fell a little further.

“There's no need, Doctor Jones,” Pete Tyler said formally, then softened. “We all know you’ve been through the wars, Martha. No-one here blames you for the occasional…”

“Temper tantrum?” Martha put in, and smiled at him, then sobered. “But you’ve all been through the wars, too, and I don’t see you all pitching a wobbly.”

“You didn’t see me right after we got here,” said Rose dryly, and Mickey stifled a snigger. _She’s right_ , he thought, _she was way worse off than Martha is._

“Nor me,” he put in. “I ran off, first thing.”  _Didn't want to be the tin dog..._

“And you were alone,” John said in a voice so quiet that it seemed to Mickey he hadn’t meant to say it aloud at all. He was looking at Martha with those sad black eyes, and Martha went to him and hugged him tight. She stood on tiptoe and whispered into his ear.

“Doesn’t help,” John said quietly, shaking his head. “Doesn’t help to _know_ it when you can’t _feel_ it.” Martha stepped back.

“And it doesn’t matter,” Pete said firmly. “We can absolve one another of guilt all we like, but we won’t feel it until we’re ready.” He sighed. “Or so the Torchwood shrinks keep telling me.” He smiled down at Jackie as she put an arm around his waist.

“Torchwood _what_?” Mickey very nearly laughed when he saw the look on Martha’s face. “Oh, God, wouldn’t that’ve been useful,” she said under her breath and shivered. Mickey crossed to her and took her hand.

“The point is.” said Rose, “That shrinks or no shrinks, you’re not alone any more. An’ you needn’t be.”

Mickey watched as Martha bit her lip to stop it quivering. To him she looked as though she couldn’t quite believe they _meant_ it. That they truly wanted to look after her as much as she would allow, and more, that they were _capable_ of looking after her, as her own family - and her fiancé - hadn’t been.

Not after the Year that Never Was.

“Right then,” said the Doctor briskly in that manic change-the-subject-and-the-mood way of his. “I looked at the data a bit further back, and the Cyberchief’s been to the Cardiff Hub before - shall we call it that? Can’t call it Torchwood, not when London Torchwood’s _us_ , and… what?” Mickey could feel Martha suppressing a laugh and he was having a bit of trouble stopping one himself. “What?” The tall man shook his head. “Anyway, the Cyberchief, it’s been moving about quite a bit actually, so I think we’ve a job for you.

 

-/-

 

Martha realised before anyone else what the Doctor was getting at.

“Doctor… John, whatever--”

“If it helps, ‘Doctor’ is fine.”

“Right then. So you want us - me and Mickey - to wait until she’s gone to anoth--

“Martha,” Pete interrupted gently, “It’s easier if we think of each of the Cybers as an ‘it,’ because then…” He trailed off.

“I can’t. I knew her… her, Lisa from the other dimension, I mean, and I _can’t_. Not yet.” Martha felt rather than heard the shocked noise Mickey made in the back of his throat as his hand squeezed hers convulsively. She squeezed back and listed to the murmured sympathy - _I’m sorry, I’m so sorry_ \- from the Doctor. Pete didn’t move, and Martha stared him down. He nodded once, and looked satisfied.

“Right, so you want us to wait until she goes somewhere else and takes the Key with her; then we can go in and scope the place, make sure it matches up to the Hub I know, yeah?” Mickey listened as her voice got stronger and surer with each word and he wanted to applaud.

“Sounds good to me,” he said instead, and was rewarded with a quick smile.

“Can I ask you a personal question?” Martha asked him later, sitting together on the little settee at the end of his bed this time.

Mickey chuckled. “Oh yeah, ‘cause there’s nothin’ personal about the conversations we’ve had up to now? What’ve you got?”

“Can you explain the ‘tin dog’? I keep hearing it and I don’t know what it means unless it’s some kind of code and--” Martha broke off, looking into Mickey’s face, then continued. “I’m sorry - if you don't want to say… I’m sorry.” She got up from the settee and started toward the door connecting their rooms.

“Martha.” She stopped, turned. “Don’t go.” He took a deep breath. “Comrades in arms, yeah? Gotta know strengths and weaknesses…” _Even when they make you feel a right git_ , Mickey thought sourly. _Now she’ll see._

“Budge over then.” It was automatic now, the ritual phrases they’d been using every day for a couple of weeks, and Mickey found it reassuring as she sat down beside him.

Even if she might despise him after this. Not for feeling like the tin dog - she’d understand that - but for letting it affect him still.

So he told her. Told her in more detail about the school and K-9 and Sarah Jane Smith. And he found that he didn’t feel quite so much the git after all was said and done, as she looked at him with sympathy rather than pity.

“It’s why I like you,” he heard himself admitting to her, and she looked taken aback.

“What, ‘cause I’m second rate too? To the Doctor, I mean.” _Shit, I didn’t mean..._

“No! _God_ , no. Because you’re… you’re brilliant, and beautiful, and you’re a bloody _doctor_.” He looked away and swallowed hard, then looked back at those pretty eyes, almost as black as the Doctor’s, and he said, hoarsely, “An’ you don’t care that I’m _not_.” She didn’t move, just kept searching his face. “I’m not the tin dog to you.”

“Mickey Smith, you are _no-one’s_ tin dog,” she said, holding his face in both hands so he couldn’t look away. “And if you ever were, you just remember that sometimes the tin dog’s the most important member of the team, yeah?”

Mickey couldn’t help himself. He kissed her.

And for a glorious, endless moment, she kissed him back.

But then she pulled away. “I’d better…” she gestured vaguely toward the door connecting their rooms.

“Don’t go.” _Please don’t go, I didn’t mean to scare you, please…_

“I’ve got to. If I don’t, we’ll end up--”

“Would that be so bad?”

“No. It wouldn’t, and that’s the point.” She looked away, and her voice dropped to a near-whisper. “I’m not ready.”

 _Oh, thank god,_ Mickey thought, but what he said aloud was, “OK. But Martha?”

“Yeah?” She had stood, and she stopped but she didn’t turn to look at him.

“If you need me, you call for me. We’re comrades in arms.”

Now she turned. “And more than that,” she said quietly, not meeting his eyes, and turned and fled the room.

 

 

 


	9. Hold On

_No, no no no!_

_Don’t hurt them!_

_‘They tortured him, Martha  
Killed and revived him, over and over’_

_‘I don’t want to talk about it  
_ _Been experimented on before  
_ _But I don’t want to talk about it!’_

_‘You know what to do_   
_For the sake of the human race_   
_Dr. Jones, good luck’_

_EX-TER-MIN-ATE_

_No! Tom…_

 

-/-

 

 _Either I cried out in the night or he just missed having someone near_ , Martha thought sleepily when she woke next morning with Mickey curled against her side, an arm slung over her.

“All right, then?” He murmured it without opening his eyes, and Martha felt her own eyes fill. _Oh, God, let’s not start the day crying, yeah?_ she thought, and forced the tears back.

“Somethin’ wrong?” His voice was still drowsy and the arm around her waist tightened a little.

Martha shook her head. “No. ‘M good. I just…” _Dammit,_ she thought as her breath hitched, _I can’t even wake up without crying._

“Hey.” Mickey’s voice was concerned. “Martha... hey.” he propped himself up to look at her, and reached up with the hand that had been around her waist, thumbing the one escaped tear away.

“I’m sorry,” Martha very nearly wailed, and just lost it entirely. She curled into a ball, facing away from Mickey, and sobbed. “I’m not l- _like_ this. I hate _being_ like this but I can’t s-stop!”

“Maybe you should stop tryin’ t’stop.” His voice was quiet, but it got through, and Martha just thought _bugger it_ and wept. She cried and cried, until she was nearly sick with it, and Mickey just held on. He didn’t leave, he just wrapped himself around the little ball of misery that was Martha Jones and held on.

 

-/-

 

 _Oh, God, she_ … Mickey’s thoughts were nearly as incoherent as Martha's words as she cried in his arms. It went on and on, in great shuddering sobs, and all he could do was hold on and let her cry. He’d seen her, held her as she cried before. But then it had been a few tears, a few sniffles, and then she’d pulled it all back inside.

Not this time.

She didn’t notice the quiet tap on the door. She didn’t notice when the door cracked open and Rose looked in. She didn’t even notice when Rose gave Mickey a look of mingled sympathy and satisfaction - her expression said _it’s about time she let it out_ \- and left again, quietly closing the door behind her. Martha just cried and cried, and Mickey just held on.

Eventually the sobs subsided, and Martha let out a huge and shaky sigh, then turned over to face him. She looked simultaneously dreadful - all puffy eyes and tear tracks - and so very much better, having finally let go of all the grief and pain and worry.

Not the guilt, though; Mickey could still see that lurking behind those enormous wet brown eyes.

“Better?” His voice was hoarse.

“Some.” And hers was almost gone, but she continued. “I’m sorry… I…”

“What for? ‘Comrades in arms,’ yeah?”

“Is that what we are, Mickey?” Though still hoarse, her voice was very serious and sad, and Mickey wondered at it. He brought up one hand to cup her jaw and kissed her on the forehead.

“Martha, I… oh, don’t, not over this,” he said as the tears welled up again.

“I c-can’t help it. You’re so k-kind to me, and after I left last night I thought…”

“Did you really think I’d leave you alone with the nightmares just ‘cause you didn’t… _really_?”

“No! And that’s the point, Mickey, you _wouldn’t_ , and I thought you _would_ , and I never meant to h--”

But Mickey couldn’t help himself then; he cut off the outpouring of guilt by kissing her. “I’m not hurt,” he said against her mouth, and pulled away, sat up.

“I…” She stopped and sat up herself, facing him.

“What? An’ for God’s sake don’t say you’re sorry again, you’ve nothing to be sorry for.”

“I hate when I’m like this!” _Oh, Martha love, how can you..._

“Like what? Finally gettin’ rid of some of the crap the universe has handed you?”

“Oh, stop it. It’s no worse than any of his other travelling companions.”

“Isn’t it? Let’s just tot it all up then, yeah?”

“Mickey…” There was a warning in her voice somewhere, but Mickey didn’t care. She had to _see_ , didn’t she, see that it was OK for her to need help.

“So it all started normal - for the Doctor - right? Adventures on the moon, back in time, on a diff’rent planet. Scary ones, but still adventures, yeah, ‘cept that somewhere in there he tells you about the Time War Still an’ all, like any companion?” Mickey could hear his voice rising a bit, but he couldn’t help himself. “Weird half-Daleks and pig-aliens in New York, an’ guys tryin’ t’ live forever, and creepy livin’ suns trying to burn ya to bits. Normal… for the Doctor’s companions.”

Mickey saw the door ease open again, but he didn’t acknowledge Rose. He was on a roll, and Martha was listening, and that’s what mattered, that she could _see_.

Rose stayed where she was.

“An’ then things got weird, yeah? The Doctor’s like some teacher in 1913, an’ you’re _alone_ in a time an’ place where you got no power, an’ you gotta protect ‘im, so you do. That’s the first real trauma, yeah?” Martha tried to speak, but Mickey glared at her and she subsided. He was angry now, he could feel it rising in him. How _dare_ the universe hand this woman more than any one woman should have to take?

“Then there’s those Angel things, an’ then things get even worse, don’t they? ‘Cause that’s when the Master gets in on the act.” Martha shuddered and Mickey fought the urge to just gather her in again, hold her forever. _She must see._ “I don’ know what all went on during the Year for you, an’ you don’t hafta tell me,” he said, “But I know you came back to people who were horribly traumatised by what they saw, by what was done to them. And they all relied on _you_. Not the Boss, prob’ly, but your parents an’ your sister, an’ maybe Jack, an’ who did _you_ have?”

Martha closed her eyes. “No-one. But Mickey…”

“I ain’t done.” She opened her eyes again, the pretty dark brown blurred by tears. “Right, so you’ve got Tom, but he don’t remember the Year, so he’s… what, softer? an’ he can’t deal with any of your problems. You’ve got a new job, an’ you go through some more adventures with the Boss and Donna. Then you go to work with Torchwood, you’re all alone in that Pharm place, an’ Owen takes a bullet for you. S’not your fault but you don’ think like that, so ‘course it’s your fault to you. An’ you _still_ don’t got no-one who gets it, ‘cept maybe Cap’n Jack, an’ he’s got his own problems.”

The tears were running down her face now, and Mickey heard a low sound from the door. He glanced over there and saw that Rose was crying too.

“Then your boss says you gotta destroy the world an’ he gives you a way to _do_ it, an’ that’s all on _you_ , Martha, you’re all alone. Again, even when you’re with the rest of us, ‘cause you’ve got the Key. An’ then we get back from that trip an’ Jack tells you about Tom an’ it’s all too much for one person! You didn’t have _anyone_!” He was almost shouting at her now, and he didn’t care who heard.

He didn’t notice when Rose left the room.

Then he felt a touch on his own wet cheek as Martha reached up and kissed it “But now I do,” she said in a choked voice, “And I get it, Mickey. You add all that up and it sounds…”

“An’ there’s more…

“I know,” she said, and gave him a wry sort of smile through the tears. “I was there.”

 

-/-

 

 _Oh, God, he’s crying for me, just at the thought of all that_ shit - _the Year, the Pharm, all of it - because he cares, he really does_.

“Martha,” he said soberly, a little more calmly now, “You’re a doctor.” She felt herself give him a nod. “You’d cut a patient a break if they’d been through all that, yeah? Can you do it for yourself too?”

“Post traumatic stress, yeah,” Martha said on a sigh. “Didn’t think about it like that.”

“Yeah, well, sometimes it takes someone outside t’see, don’t it?” _That’s not all it takes,_ she thought, and felt a surge of warm gratitude.

“Someone who cares enough to see,” she said, and kissed him.

And for one glorious, endless moment he kissed her back.

Then Mickey pulled away, gently, and Martha tried not to feel personally rejected. _He wouldn’t just push me away, not after all that, he wouldn’t, I_ …

“Do you not want… I mean, not anymore, because…”

“I want.” _His voice is hoarse, and it sounds like he does, but then why…?_ “ _God_ , I want. But not if it’s guilt an’... an’ like gratitude, y’know? All I did was listen.”

“That’s not all you did, Mickey,” Martha said. “That’s not the half of it. And it’s not _all_ gratitude and guilt, not nearly.” She sighed and gave him a watery smile. “But a bit of it still is, so…”

“So… “ Now he looked embarrassed, for this first time all morning, even though he’d held on for a half hour or more as she’d cried. “Um… ‘comrades in arms,’ then?”

 _Yes_. “And friends. And maybe… eventually...”

Mickey smiled. “Yeah. Eventually. For now…” He glanced at the bedside clock and began to laugh. “For now we should go back to bed. It’s half four in the morning. Budge over.”


	10. Stay

They spent the next several weeks working. And waiting.

Waiting for the Cyberchief to make its move - Martha was now conscientiously calling the Cyberchief _it_ so as to spare herself more guilt. She knew in her head that it wasn’t Lisa, even if Lisa had fallen through a dimensional rift as she and Mickey had, or as Rose had. Even if that had happened, it wasn’t the Lisa she knew. Not anymore; it was a Cyberman. She knew it in her head, but she had trouble reconciling it in her heart. And her subconscious was having none of it; between the Cyberchief with her old friend’s face and bits of the old guilt left over after the catharsis that had been that night several weeks back, Martha’s nights were restless.

Unless Mickey was there.

The work filled the days. Physical training, weapons practice, going over the plans Martha drew of the Torchwood Hub. John was working on how to get Martha - and Mickey if he chose to go, and oh, _God_ , Martha hoped he chose to go; they never talked about it and she was afraid to ask - back to the other Earth. They’d need the Cyberchief’s Key, and no-one knew what they’d use to power it, or whether Martha would be drained going through whatever they used as she had been on the way here.

And that would be after the Cyberchief left the Cardiff Hub, after they did the recon, and then after they waited for the Cyberchief to get back there with the Key. John was confident that they could get Martha _(and oh, please, Mickey)_ back to their home dimension within a week or so after they left, but it was still more _waiting_.

Martha was so tired of waiting.

And then, suddenly, the waiting was over, because John’s scanner showed that the Key had been removed from the Cardiff Hub, though it hadn’t shown up anywhere else yet.

It was time for Martha and Mickey to go in.

 

-/-

 

“You go in, reconnoitre, and get out,” Pete said for what Mickey thought must be the thousandth time. But he managed not to roll his eyes, not to sigh. Pete was just worried. Mickey nodded.

“Right,” he said “Got the camera for reconnaissance, got the weapons just in case of stray Cybers, got the radio to stay in touch. I gotcha, Pete; we’re good.”

“Martha?” _Oh sure, don’t take my word for it_ , thought Mickey, _ask her_. But it wasn’t a tin dog sort of thing; Pete wanted reassurance, that’s all.

“I’m good,” Martha said. She looked it. Mickey knew that she was tired; she’d been pushing herself hard for weeks, trying to exhaust herself into sleep without dreams… and she still had the dreams now and then anyway. But she looked fit and ready for action, and he trusted she could handle it.

So they went.

It was eerie when they first entered the Hub. Different, a bit, because there was no invisible lift. Other than that as far as Mickey could tell it was absolutely the same. But then he’d only seen the… the public areas back in their home dimension, though none of it was truly public. Martha knew it better, so they went deeper in.

And that’s when it happened.

Martha knew the place, so she was on point, and Mickey brought up the rear. He had relaxed a bit once the place had appeared empty; he was enjoying the view from behind Martha and not paying as close attention to his surroundings as he ought to do. And the Cyber jumped him.

He yelped and tried to hit it with the butt of his pistol but it was too close; it had him around the neck with one hand, and it held him up to look at him and that’s when Mickey realised…

...it was the Cyberchief. Not just any Cyber. Not just any half-Cyber. It was the Cyberchief, the one whose face haunted Martha’s nightmares, the one they had thought was gone from here, gone away with the Key. He clutched at it, missing and grabbing something it had hung around its neck and he tried to call Martha’s name, _gotta warn her, it’s here, it’s h..._

Then things started to go grey around the edges as the Cyber squeezed.

The last thing Mickey saw before he lost consciousness was Martha’s face turning toward him, her mouth in a little O of surprise before it transformed into a furious snarl and he dropped into the black.

 

-/-

 

“No!”

_No, you won’t have him, you can’t have him!_

Martha didn’t think, didn’t do anything but react. She swung her gun around and sighted along the barrel, then caught the half-Cyber right between the eyes, in the one place for a sure kill shot that wasn’t protected by the cyberware.

And it dropped like a stone, carrying Mickey’s limp form with it.

“Base, this is Martha, it was here, the Cyberchief was _here_ , we need your help. Please, please, help us!” Martha babbled and sobbed into her radio mike even as she dragged Mickey out from under the Cyberchief and backed them into a corner in case any other Cybers were here. He was breathing, and his heart was beating, but he was unconscious - oxygen loss, the part of Martha that was a doctor thought dispassionately, from its hand around his neck - “Come on, Mickey, sweetheart, come on, don’t go, please don’t go.”

She could hear herself babbling endearments and encouragement to Mickey, coordinates and pleas for help to base, but she didn’t care, it didn’t matter how stupid she sounded if he would only be okay. Oh _God_ , he was bleeding, bleeding heavily, and oh _shit_ , gotta stop the bleeding, please, Mickey, please don’t go.

He roused when she put pressure on the wound above his collarbone - _gotta stop the bleeding_ \- just long enough to gasp out, “Not goin’ anywhere, c-comrades in arms, yeah?” and then he passed out again. _No, no, NO, Mickey, come on, ohgod ohgod ohgod, please, Mickey, please, I can’t lose you, please, don’t go..._

And then the Doctor was there, and Pete, and Rose, and the latter two took Mickey between them on a makeshift stretcher, whatever he’d been holding so tightly dangling from limp fingers, while the Doctor just scooped Martha up and cradled her face against his shoulder. “Come on, Martha Jones, you’ve saved the world again,” he said, “And we’ve got Mickey, he’s got the Key, you saved him, he’ll be all right.”

 

-/-

 

_“He’ll be fine, Martha, quit fretting.”_

_“I tried to stop the bleeding, I_ tried _, I couldn’t bear it if…”_  

_“Don’t think all this is his. But… he’s coming ‘round.”_

Mickey came to all at once, and tried to sit up. _Shit, that hurt!_ Martha supported him as he lay back down.

“There, you see?” The Doctor grinned. “He’ll be fine.”

Mickey blinked.

“Boss?” His voice was almost gone, and not only did his shoulder hurt, his throat was on fire. But he was here, he was alive, and… “Martha!”

“I’m right here.” She looked so fragile, tearstained and bloodstained, and Mickey grabbed at her hand.

“Don’t go,” he croaked.

“Comrades in arms, yeah?” she said, and burst into tears.

 _Oh, don’t do that, sweetheart_ , he thought, and pulled her down to him with the hand she held. He kissed her cheek. “Not only that,” he rasped into her ear, and she sniffled and became suddenly very briskly efficient.

Martha dashed tears from her cheeks as she stood and started ordering them about. “Right then, Doctor, let’s clean him up. Rose, give him a hand with that. We can’t tell for certain if he has any other wou… what?” Rose was staring at her with a fascinated sort of expression that Mickey had seen once or twice. “ _What?_ ”

“Um… you’re covered in blood too, didya know?”

“I…” began Martha, and then she started to laugh.

If the laugh was ever so slightly hysterical, no-one mentioned it, Mickey least of all.

 

-/-

 

 _All cleaned up,_ thought Martha, and she was a little embarrassed now that things had calmed down. She’d been such a prat, babbling and sobbing and weeping, but no-one else seemed to notice or care, so she tried to shrug it off.

She stayed quiet when the Torchwood doctor wanted Mickey to stay in the infirmary that night, but when the woman had left and the Doctor - John - said the same thing as though it were a done deal, she balked. “I _think_ ,” she said frostily, “That I can manage to look after him in his own room, where he is comfortable. _Doctor_ Smith.”

“I’m sure you can, Doctor Jones,” he replied, black eyes sparkling, and _shit_ , he was laughing at her.

“Stop it, John,” Rose said in that fondly exasperated tone. “Let them do as they like.” She snickered. “I’m sure they can ah… handle it.”

 _What d’you know,_ thought Martha, _the human doctor can blush._ She was blushing too, but without an actual Time Lord on the premises, no-one could tell.

She sidled away from the medical scanners in any case.

But she got her way, and they transported Mickey up to his own bed.

Later that night, after the rest of the household had gone to bed, Martha brought Mickey a cup of tea sweetened with honey for his bruised throat. She sat beside him on the bed and watched him drink. Each time he swallowed he winced, she noticed, and it made her own throat ache to watch him. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, and he looked up in surprise.

“What for?”

The clinician in Martha noted that he still sounded hoarse but his voice was improving and he didn’t wince when he spoke. The woman in Martha wanted to weep. “I should’ve reacted faster,” she said, and he shook his head. “Yes,” she insisted, and started to get up. She needed to _move_ , to rid herself of the guilt, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her back down.

“You saved me, Martha,” he said, and tugged her into a one-armed hug. “My turn with the bad arm, that’s all.”

Martha laid her forehead on his. “Tell me not to go,” she said. _Please tell me you want me here._

“Don’t go.”

“Ask me…” She kissed him, long and slow and sweet. “Ask me to stay.” _Don’t make me leave._

“Please,” Mickey said. “Please stay.”

Martha watched Mickey watch her with wide dark eyes as she leaned down to kiss him again.

“I’m staying.”

 


	11. Horse and Carriage

Mickey stretched as far as his bandaged shoulder would allow, and ran the fingers of his good hand through the tiny braids the sleeping Martha wore. _You’re still here,_ he thought, with a certain wonder. _Still here, with me, the tin dog._ He felt a little choked up, like he might cry if given any excuse at all. And it wasn’t the same as the sore throat he’d had since the Cyberchief had squeezed him; this was emotional, not physical.

Martha stretched without opening her eyes, and his fingers slipped out of her hair. “G’morning…” she mumbled, burrowed deeper into his good side, and went back to sleep. Mickey’s arm tightened around her without asking him and the lump in his throat got bigger, and he must have made some sort of noise, because she roused again. Sitting up, she rubbed sleep out of her eyes, suddenly all doctor. “Your shoulder? Did we exacerbate the wound?” She inspected the bandage. “Looks okay, so…” Glancing at his face, she went back to the woman rather than the medic. “Mickey? What’s wrong, love?”

 _You’re still here,_ he thought, but he swallowed hard and managed a smile. “Nothing.” Sliding his good hand around the back of her neck, he pulled her toward him and kissed her gently on the lips. “Nothing at all.”

 

-/-

 

Martha fully expected teasing at breakfast, but she was surprised to find that everyone - even the Doctor - just took this step in her relationship with Mickey as a matter of course. When they walked into the dining room, hand in hand, the Doctor just looked up from his Weetabix and mumbled, “Mornin’,” around a mouthful. Rose smiled at them, and Tony banged his spoon on the table.

It was all so _normal_ that Martha nearly cried, and Mickey just beamed at everyone, but it wasn’t a bit smug, like ‘look what - or who - I did;’ it was just... _happy_. She squeezed his hand and he aimed that brilliant, happy smile at her. Heart clenching, she smiled up and him, and tried to ignore the fear that he would want to stay here. _Early days yet,_ she thought, _ignore it until you’re sure you can even get home yourself._

But it was hard, and what was the Doctor saying?

“The good news is that we _can_ get you home. There.” He waved a hand. “The other universe, you know.”

“And the bad news?” Martha heard herself say as she went cold all over. _Too soon, I just found him, I can’t_ …

The Doctor was still shoveling cereal in. “Ay mnn,” he said, and swallowed. “Eight months. Can’t do it sooner than that, not with any accuracy, to get you back to Cardiff within a week of leaving there. Door’s closed, you see, and without a Rift to power the Key, we need the proper alignment in the…” He trailed off, started rearranging salt cellars and sugar bowls in a complex diagram on the table, and Rose laughed.

“At least we cured him of writing on the table,” she said, and smiled at Martha.

 _Okay_ , thought Martha as she choked up again, _this weepiness has got to stop. Yeah, post-traumatic stress and all that, but it’s like a dam’s given way. Like one of those daft people who cries every time a sweet advert comes on the telly. Eight months. What if we’re together for eight months and he doesn’t want to come with me?_ It was time to face that fear and it was best that she do it right _now_. Get it over with if he didn’t want to… “Mickey,” she began, and something in her voice caught his attention.

And Rose’s, who looked at her sharply and took her by the elbow, sat her down in a chair. “You look like you’re about to faint,” she said in a low tone in Martha's ear. Mickey slung his good arm around her and pulled her to him, and by some miracle, none of the others seemed to have noticed any of this. The Doctor was muttering to himself and moving things around on the table still, Pete and Jackie were talking over Tony’s head, and the child was still banging his spoon.

“I…” Martha said, and took a deep breath. “Mickey. Are you staying?”

He stared at her. “What? Oh, girl talk, I s’pose.” He started to lever himself out of the chair just as the Doctor snatched the banging spoon away from Tony to use it in his diagram, and the child set up a howl.

“Miiiine! Mine thpoon!”

“Oh, for God’s sake!” Jackie snapped at the Doctor, and he looked abashed, handed the spoon back to the baby, and turned his focus on the three people in a huddle at his end of the table.

“Now then,” he said in that kind, sorrowful tone he used to say _I’m sorry, I’m so sorry_ , “What’s the trouble, Martha Jones?”

 _Oh, of course_ , Martha thought, _why the hell not?_ The deep breath she took this time was a bit shaky. “Mickey,” she said, turning to him. “Are you… when I go, back to the other universe, I… are you staying here… with your family?” He looked absolutely shocked, some rational part of her noticed, as though she had slapped him.

“I…” Mickey gulped visibly, and he reached up with his good hand, wound it into the little braids and brought her forehead gently to his. It gave them the illusion of privacy, Martha thought, even with the Doctor and Rose hanging on their every word. She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry at this point; she was so scared he'd want to stay here, but the situation was farcical. “Look,” Mickey said, “I… I wanna go wherever you want me to go.” And he and Martha grinned at each other like idiots when the Doctor started to speak.

“Ruth said it best.‘Whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people.’ Nice girl, Ruth. I quite liked her.”

“Very kind to her mother-in-law,” Jackie said acidly from across the table, and the Doctor grinned at her. Martha felt Rose tense.

“What is it?” she asked the blonde girl quietly. “You know they wouldn’t actually hurt one another…”

“I… never mind.” Rose put on a brilliant and obviously fake smile, but Mickey was looking carefully past Martha into Rose’s face, and his jaw firmed as he clenched his teeth.

 

-/-

 

“Back me up?” Mickey asked Martha softly, and Martha nodded. He knew she had no idea what she’d just agreed to, but she trusted him, and part of him exulted in the fact.

The other part was seriously, properly angry with the Doctor or John or whatever the hell he was called here, and why the hell hadn’t he asked Rose to…?

“What’re you _thinking_?” Mickey heard himself almost snarl it at the Doctor, and the half-human blinked. But Mickey wasn’t done. He might not be with Rose anymore, but he loved her; she was the next thing to his sister, and the Doctor had better damn well listen to him. “You been livin’ an’ sleepin’ with ‘er for months, in ‘er parents’ house, you love ‘er and now you’re human you can stay, and you never even _asked_ ‘er? What’s the _matter_ with you?”

He heard - or maybe felt - Martha give a little snort, and then she spoke up. “ _Really_ , Doctor? You spent all that time mooning around after her, and now you won’t even _ask_? I--”

“Martha.” Rose’s voice was quiet, but firm, her eyes on the Doctor’s. “Mickey. He doesn’t understand, he didn’t know it’d be important to me, and I’m content, truly I am, he…” She trailed off as the Doctor blinked. Mickey noticed that the dark eyes had gone sad again, and hurt and guilty, horrified, and he felt a pang of guilt. He had meant to call the man out, not to hurt him.

Even Jackie and Tony were quiet now, the latter watching with big eyes and the former clutching at her husband’s hand.

“I…” the Doctor began, and Mickey felt even more guilt at the crack in the Doctor’s voice. “I didn’t… I _never_ meant…” He took a deep and shuddering breath, and held his hands across the table to Rose. She took them. “I _am_ sorry, Rose, I never thought, I should have thought, should've _known_ you’d want--”

“Do _you_ want?” She asked him softly, and his face just… lit up. He grinned at her, and she smiled back, and they were caught in each other’s gaze. Mickey felt Martha grope for his good hand, hold it.

Then Mickey cleared his throat. “You have to say the words, Boss,” he said gently, and the Doctor blinked again.

“Rose Tyler, will you marry me?”

 

-/-

 

Most of Martha wanted to cheer. She hadn’t been sure what Mickey was up to when he’d asked for backup, but helping him get Doctor Mixed Message to outright _ask_ Rose Tyler to marry him… it was completely worth the moment of doubt. Even if it had hurt him for a moment, because Rose was right. He hadn’t understood. Human or not, there was still too much Time Lord in him to make the right assumptions about humans with that sort of thing. He loved Rose to bits, that much was obvious, but he just didn’t get it until someone - a human - pushed.

So most of Martha wanted to cheer as the babble of congratulations got louder and more emphatic, even baby Tony joining in. But the rest of her was chafing at the idea of eight more months here before she could go home, and even though Mickey had said he’d go with her, that he _wanted_ to go with her, how could she be sure he’d still want to eight months from now?

It had taken Tom less than a year to grow tired of her.

 _Heart and heads again,_ thought Martha sourly. _They aren’t the same man and I_ know _that, and Mickey met me knowing… who I am. But…_ She shook her head and she must have made some sort of impatient or frustrated noise in her throat, because Mickey squeezed the hand he held, then tugged on it gently.

“Weetabix?” he said, letting go of her hand and sliding a mug of tea across to her. He handed her the sugar bowl. “Or eggs?”

Martha pulled a face at him and dumped some sugar in her tea. He knew who she was. And for now, that was enough.


	12. Tin Dogs

“Now we’ve got the _when_ and the _how_ , and the _when’s_ not for another eight months, what d’you wanna do once the Torchwood doc has cleared me?” Martha was fairly sure Mickey was in earnest, but he sounded so like the Doctor with his _whens_ and _hows_ \- whilst sitting on an exam table in nothing but jeans and a bandage -that she started laughing.

Then she sobered, and laid a hand on his cheek. “What did I do to deserve you?”

He blushed; she could feel it under her hand. “‘M nothin’ spec-” he started, and she leaned in to kiss him, smothering the rest of the words.

“But you are.” It was simply said against his mouth, and then she pulled back to look at him. _Tin dog,_ she thought; _it doesn’t just go away. I should know_. “Mickey, Tom would _never_ have done what you just did. It just wouldn’t’ve crossed his mind to ask me what I wanted before he made a decision about his life.” Mickey opened his mouth as though to speak but Martha put one finger to his lips. “But you just… put yourself in my hands.” She could feel herself start to slip, her voice to crack, and evidently Mickey could too, because he kissed the fingertip and smirked at her at the words _put yourself into my hands_. “Stop it,” she said, and giggled, and then the Torchwood doctor came in.

“Feeling better, Mister Smith?” the woman said, and arched an eyebrow at the two of them. It struck Martha funny, and she giggled harder. Apparently Torchwood in this universe wasn’t as… _open_ as in her own. Kissing fingertips would barely have registered over there. Not nearly innovative enough, much less avant garde.

 

-/-

 

“Mickey,” Martha said later, and stopped. They were in his room, and she was gently massaging his forehead, as the Torchwood doctor was a big believer in natural remedies for pain.

 

“Mmhmm…?” Mickey was nearly asleep, and oh, her hands felt lovely on his forehead, but her voice sounded serious, and he tried to wake up a bit. “You OK?” he heard himself mumble, and she didn’t answer, so he opened his eyes.

God, she looked so _sad_. But it was an aching sort of sadness, not the desperate flow of tears of the other night. And she kept right on rubbing his temples in slow circles. Mickey sat up, afraid he'd fall asleep with her doing that. “What’s up?”

Martha’s hands dropped to her lap, where she twisted the fingers together. “I was just thinking…” she began, and took a deep breath. “About Tom, and you, and how he’d have never asked what I wanted. And I realised something.” Her hands were practically in knots now, something she never did anymore unless she was very upset, and Mickey reached down with both of his now that the sling was off. He gently disentangled her fingers and held her hands in his.

“What?”

“I…” Now she had tears in her eyes, but they didn’t look anguished. Just a peculiar mix of grief and hope. She took another deep breath, a shuddering one this time. “He didn’t love me,” she said almost inaudibly, and her voice broke, then steadied as she looked into his eyes. “Not really. He…”

“He wasn’t the Tom you thought you loved. An’ you weren’t just the pretty doctor what fancied ‘im.” She looked startled, then intrigued.

“What d’you mean?”

“Look, you loved the Tom what lived through the Year. The tough one who’d learnt about things like… like…”

“Self-sacrifice,” Martha said softly, and Mickey nodded.

“Yeah, like that. An’ he prob’ly fell for this woman who dropped outta the sky an’ looked ‘im up an’...”

“And then he realised I wasn’t the woman he thought I was,” Martha breathed. “I was a lot tougher and more… but how did you know?”

Mickey heard himself sigh. This was the hard part. “Sometimes you got this look on your face, like this ‘what happened to the guy I knew?’ look. But only when you’re talkin’ about Tom. An’ Jake useta… _dammit_.” Shit, he was choking up and he didn’t want to. This wasn’t about him and Jake, but it was the only way he knew to tell her…

Martha freed one hand from his and reached up to touch his face. “Jake used to look at you like that? Because you look like Ricky.” Mickey just nodded. “And since Jake and Ricky were lovers, it must’ve been doubly hard for him to… get past that.” She sighed. “Poor Tom, and poor Jake.”

“Yeah,” Mickey said on a long and shuddering sigh, and Martha pulled him toward her and rested her chin on his good shoulder. “It’s that heads and hearts thing again, yeah?” he said into her ear. “We _know_ s’not really our fault we weren't who they wanted, but…”

“But it’s hard to feel it,” Martha said into the skin of his neck, and kissed him there.

“Lookit us,” Mickey said, laughing a little so he wouldn’t cry. “Coupla’ tin dogs - or thinkin’ we are. Again.”

“I’ve a new diagnosis just for us, Mickey,” Martha said softly. “Tin-dog-itis, for when we feel second-rate… even to ourselves.”

 

-/-

 

“ _Noblesse oblige_ ,” Martha said after she had settled Mickey back to where she could rub his temples again, leaning over with his head in her lap. “That’s what it was with Tom. Like he became a doctor in the first place not ‘cause he wanted to _help_ people, but because he…”

“‘Cause it made ‘im feel good t’be their savior?”

“Not quite. Their… benefactor, maybe.” She sighed. “He wasn’t a bad guy, a pretty good one, actually. Just not…”

“Not the guy you fell for at the end of the Year that Never Was,” Mickey said gently, then blinked as a tear plopped onto his face and she took a breath as though to speak. “And don’t say you’re sorry. You got no reason to be.” He wiped his face and sat up again. “I feel better anyway,” he murmured, and slid the stronger of his hands into Martha’s hair, cupping the back of her neck under the braids. “C’mere.”

And he kissed her.

She sighed into his mouth as he pulled her into him and oh God, to be _cared_ for like this, it was…

“Hmm…?” She must’ve said some of that aloud. And now she felt she _wanted_ to, wanted him to know exactly how important he was becoming, and why. Martha smiled under his lips. _The whys,_ she thought, _along with the whens and the hows_ …

“Mickey?” She was breathless.

“Yeah.” God, so was he, and it made her feel… strong, she decided, cared for, even loved, but able to stand on her own feet because he’d be there if she needed him.

He wouldn’t interfere, but he’d step up if she needed him.

It was bloody amazing, that someone would do that for her. For _her_.

 _Shit,_ Martha thought, _tin-dog-itis creeping in there._

But Mickey was still kissing her stupid and oh _God_ , she wanted… she…

“You OK?” he murmured it into her mouth and she nodded, nipping gently at his lower lip as she pulled away. Unwinding her arms from around his neck, she framed his face in her hands.

“You really care,” she whispered, and kissed him lightly on the forehead, then laid hers gently on his. “You care so much, and I _mmph_!” He was kissing her again, and she just couldn’t get enough of him.

“Wanna make love t’you this time, Martha, I…”

But he didn’t have to say any more, thought Martha. Because he loved her.

And she was beginning to love him.

 

-/-

 

Mickey was rubbing Martha’s temples this time, though the position was awkward for his wounded shoulder. “Budge over,” he said softly, and scooted her so she was lying lengthwise in his lap, head resting on his chest. “Better,” Mickey said, flexing the sore arm carefully.

But Martha _was_ a doctor after all, and she caught him at it. Sitting up, she peeked under the bandage. “It’s all right,” she said with an air of relief. “Thought I’d hurt you.”

“You wouldn’t,” Mickey said. “You prob’ly _could_ , but you wouldn’t. Only in defense, I’d think.” He smiled down at her. “You’re a doctor ‘cause you wanna help people. You’d only harm if there’s no other way. Now come back here an’ let me look after you for a change.”

“Oh,” she said archly. “You’ve already looked after me today. Very, _very_ well.”

“That’s jus’...”

“No,” Martha interrupted. “It’s not. Mickey…” She took a deep breath. “What we’ve been doing, it’s not just…”

“Sex?” Mickey nodded. “You’re right. If I just wanted a shag, I coulda gone out an’ _had_ one. Lived here for years, I know girls who woulda been willin’. If that’s all I wanted.” _But it’s not. It’s_ not _. I want…_

“But you wanted _me_ ,” Martha said softly, in that tone that said _tin dog_ to Mickey. “And you were willing to wait until I…” She closed her eyes, and the expression on her face made Mickey want to draw her in and hold her forever. So much guilt and pain, over Tom and Jack and the Doctor and Mickey himself and the whole bloody human race.

“Worth the wait,” he said simply, and she opened her eyes with an incredulous, nearly hurt look that suggested she thought he was having her on. “I mean it,” Mickey said, and took a deep breath. He’d have to tell her, even if it scared her away he’d have to tell her. “I saw you there in the Vault. The rest of us - everybody was workin’ together, like Jack an’ Sarah Jane an’ me an’ Jackie, we were all workin’ together. But you didn’t have anyone. Jus’ standin’ up there all alone, so brave, an’ I… I started t’fall for you right then.”

“Mickey.”

“I _did_. An’ then there was Tom, an’ you were so sad an’ still so _strong_ , and I kept on fallin’. Never mind that I was practically a stranger, you trusted me t’help when you needed it, an’ get the hell outta your way when y’didn’t. You’re worth the wait, Martha, an’ I dunno why you’d think you’re not!” He was almost shouting at her now, and she put a hand on his good arm, pulled him in for a kiss.

“Just a touch of the tin dog.”

 

 

 

 


	13. Rehearsal

_Six Months Later, Pete’s World Time_

 

“Are you sure about this?” Rose seemed nervous as they tried on the dresses, Martha thought, but she wasn’t nervous about marrying John, so what was the problem? Rose laughed.

“About marrying John? ‘Course I am,” she said. “The wedding itself is kinda scary though.”

“Well,” Martha said, “God only knows what he’ll do or say.” She chuckled and the two girls burst into giggles. “I wanted to thank you, Rose,” she said, sobering, “Because you didn’t have to… you have other girl friends, and…”

“Oh hush. You’re my sister, near enough. Children of Time an’ all, an’ Mickey’s standin’ up for John, so… yeah, sisters.” She smiled at Martha. “If Sarah Jane Smith was here I’d have her too, an’ Donna Noble an’... oh bugger, sorry.”

“Don’t be,” said Martha, surprising even herself with how she felt about Donna’s fate. If it had gone the way John thought it had, it had been necessary to save her life. The Doctor would have been as gentle as he could have been - all _I’m sorry, I’m so,_ so _sorry_ \- and he would have somehow arranged to take care of her, as he had getting Martha a job with UNIT.

Not that she was sure she wanted the job with UNIT anymore.

“Yeah, they kinda did for ya, didn’t they, what with the Key an’ all.”

“God, did I say all that out loud?” Martha blushed.

But Rose was waving a hand at her as though to say _never mind_. “Dunno what all you were thinkin’ so I dunno how much you said aloud. But that’s a good thing, Martha, don’t y’see? You’re comfy enough with us t’let go and talk without thinkin’. I think it’s been a long time since you felt that…”

“Secure,” Martha said. “And that’s down to you all.”

Rose gave her a _look_. “Mostly Mickey, I think. Y’ever gonna tell ‘im how y’feel?” She waved the hand again. “Sorry. None of mine. But Martha…”

“He knows. I’m just…” Martha didn’t know how to say it. She’d tried to _show_ Mickey how she felt over the last several months, but she’d never actually _said_ , not in so many words. Of course, he didn’t either, so maybe it _was_ just comrades in arms and friends and sex, no matter what they’d said on that night six months ago.

“Still scared you’ll scare ‘im off by sayin’ the words,” Rose said quietly, and Martha stared. _That’s not it at all,_ she thought _, I… I… oh shit, maybe it IS._

“I…” Martha began, and there was a tap at the door. “Who is it?”

“A comrade in arms,” came Mickey’s teasing voice, and Martha’s heart clenched. _What if that_ is _all it is to him, I_ … But he was still talking. “Can I come in?”

Rose was already opening the door, peeking out to make sure John was nowhere in sight. She let him in. “You look lovely,” he said to her, and she curtsied, holding out the skirt of her Victorian-style dress - it was the palest yellow Martha had ever seen - and bobbing her head at Mickey. _There’s something about the style of the dress,_ Martha thought, _she sketched it and John got all teary-eyed when he saw the sketch_.

Then Mickey stepped into the room and spotted Martha and he just _stopped_ , his jaw dropping.

Martha heard Rose smother a laugh as she closed the door behind him.

“You’re…” Mickey trailed off, then took a deep breath. “Martha, you’re _beautiful_.” His voice was hoarse and for just a moment, Martha felt completely and utterly sure that he felt exactly as she did. Before the doubt crept in again.

But she managed a smile and pirouetted slowly, showing off the buttery yellow dress that was a simpler version of Rose’s. When she turned back she was surprised by the expression on his face, a look of naked _need_ combined with a kind of hopelessness, and her heart clenched again, this time with sympathy and a need of her own.

Mickey shook his head as though to clear it, and the expression disappeared. “Right then,” he said, “I’m meant to ask you t’change back into street gear so we can have that rehearsal thing now. The Boss’d come, but he’s not meant t’see Rose in her dress just yet.”

Rose nodded, and shoved Mickey gently toward the door. “Go on,” she said, “Let them know we’ll be down in a bit.” She closed the door behind him, and the last Martha saw of him he was looking back at her with that needy expression again. Rose turned to face her. “He loves you, Martha,” she said quietly, “He loves you so much. It’s all over ‘im, but he’s just as afraid to say as you are.” She shook her head. “The pair of you… come on then, let’s get out of these clothes an’ get to it.”

“Tin dogs,” Martha murmured, but either Rose didn’t hear, or she decided to let it alone.

 

-/-

 

“Why aren’t they here yet, Mickey? They should be here, and…” John shoved a hand through his hair, and Mickey tried not to laugh.

“Look, Boss, s’not urgent, yeah? Relax.”

“But there’s the thing, the rehearsal _thing_!” Mickey rolled his eyes. Nothing like a conversation with a humanized Time Lord to take his mind of his own troubles.

“The thing is not a problem. Boss… _John_ , listen, they’re jus’ upstairs, they’re changin’ clothes, an’ there ain’t no reason for ‘em t’hurry. Parish priest isn’t even here yet. _Relax_.”

“Did they look lovely? I’m sure they look…” He got a faraway look in his eye, the one that said he was remembering something good for a change, and Mickey waited as patiently as he could manage. At least the man was calming down a bit; for the Doctor, talking a mile a minute _was_ calm. “Oh, she was beautiful, Mickey, Rose, I mean, not Martha, although Martha’s lovely too, but Rose, in the dress with the… and the… she was beautiful.”

“Didja tell ‘er so? Tell ‘er how y’felt?” _Was hard for you back then, I know, but...God, if I could only be sure she wouldn’t_ leave, _I… if you could, even back then, I can, I…_

“Told her she was beautiful, yeah. Considering she was a human.” The look on John’s face was simultaneously rueful and amused at his younger, angrier self. “Didn’t tell ‘er the rest ‘til… well, until Dårlig Ulv Stranden. The second time, with _this_ me. Mickey.”

It took Mickey a moment to realise the half-human was looking at him expectantly. _God, I’ll never catch him up_. “Yeah?”

“You going to tell her? Martha, I mean, not Rose. Rose knows you love her, and that it’s different now, like siblings, but Mickey… Martha won’t believe it until you tell her. Like you told me to tell Rose, t’ask her to marry me. So, are you going to tell her?”

“I… I’m waitin’ for ‘er to be ready. I… what if she doesn’t…” Mickey was a little horrified to realise he was near tears. “I can’t lose ‘er,” he whispered before his throat closed up entirely, and John cleared his own throat, his eyes suspiciously bright.

The taller man patted Mickey on the shoulder. “I’m sorry, Mickey. So, _so_ sorry. I know exactly how you feel,” he said, and for the first time since he’d met the Doctor years ago, Mickey felt the alien really _did_ understand, really _was_ sorry.

And for some reason the thought made him feel stronger, less afraid. He took a deep breath. “I guess we gotta wait an’ see.”

 

-/-

 

The rehearsal started out well.

And then as Martha took Mickey’s arm to walk down the aisle ahead of Rose and John, she felt him tense, and he bent down to whisper, “Gotta talk to you later, alone, OK?” Martha’s heart dropped in her chest and she nodded once, swallowing a sob. _Rose and John_ , she thought, _keep it together for them, it’s just until after dinner and then… and then… we can…_

She got through the rehearsal, though both Rose and John gave her odd looks, and John raised his eyebrows at Mickey and tilted his head at Martha inquiringly. Mickey looked… scared, she decided, but game to do whatever it was, as he nodded shortly at John and brought his attention back to the ceremony rehearsal.

And then Mickey sat beside her at dinner, and Martha looked down at her plate through a sheen of tears. She had to do it, had to tell him, and right _now_ , or she’d never get up the courage, and he’d _go_. “Mickey.” Shit, the lump in her throat was so big he couldn’t even hear her. She cleared it. “Mickey.”

“Hmm?” He turned to her and gave her that wide white smile, and suddenly Martha knew, just knew that she had misunderstood. He hadn’t been silent about his feelings because he didn’t _have_ them. He’d been silent because he was afraid. Afraid that she didn’t reciprocate, afraid that _she’d_ go.

So Martha told him, quietly, under the cover of dinner table chatter. “I love you,” she said, and his face lit up. “Don’t go, stay with me. Always. Please.”

Mickey had tears in his eyes now, those beautiful brown eyes, and Martha forgot everything, the people around her, the dinner, all of it. She threw her arms around his neck and tugged him down for a kiss. “Love you,” he muttered into her mouth. “So long, Martha, I…”

“Shh. Shut up and kiss me. Then let’s get married.” And they sat there, snogging, until Martha realised the room had gone silent and she broke free of Mickey’s mouth and looked up. Evidently it took Mickey a bit longer to catch her up, but then he looked up too. Martha gave the room a little finger wave, and Mickey beamed around the table.

“I suspect congratulations are in order?” Pete asked dryly, and threw Martha a smile. “Can we get through tomorrow’s wedding first or do we need t’change things round?”

Martha found herself shaking her head, protesting, _of course we’ll wait, we’ve waited this long hadn’t we, and I hadn’t meant to interrupt the dinner, it’s Rose and John’s day, I’m so sorry for stealing their thunder_ , and then she was being kissed by just about everyone in congratulations.

“Martha Jones, you saved the world,” the Doctor - for this he _was_ the Doctor - said softly, kissing her forehead. “And you and Mickey, you saved each other.”

“Oh,” said Jackie, with tears in the blue eyes, one arm around the shoulders of her adopted son. “That’s just lovely.”

 


	14. Cardiff

They stood hand in hand on a windswept beach, Dårlig Ulv Stranden, in the universe known as Pete’s World, and they said goodbye.

 _Poor Doctor John_ , Martha thought, _he hates this place but he came for us, to make sure we got off all right._ And then he came over to kiss the both of them on their foreheads. “I’ll miss you both,” he said, and then, like a cat, he wandered off, fiddling with dials and buttons on a gadget he had brought with him. Martha shook her head _. Just like him, no matter how human he’s got_.

“Y’okay, love?” Mickey was all concern, and Martha smiled at him as Jackie and Pete approached, little Tony between them.

“Auntie Marfa an’ Unca Mickey g’bye,” said the child, and rushed Mickey, catching him round the knees. Mickey let go of Martha’s hand and swept the little boy up, tossing him into the air. While he played with Tony, Martha moved to Jackie and Pete.

“I can’t begin to thank you,” she began, and Jackie interrupted.

“Don’t be stupid, Martha, we love you. Just…” she paused for a moment as tears welled up in her blue eyes and her husband put an arm around her. “Just look after our boy, yeah?” Martha nodded, a lump in her throat, and Jackie continued. “Just… we love ‘im like he was our own, you said it yourself, an’…”

“We should’ve had the wedding here,” Martha said, “So he could be with his family before we leave…”

“I don’t blame you for wantin’ t’go home for the weddin’, Martha; you’ll want your own mum for that.” Jackie’s eyes were very kind. “Oh! An’ the gift, we got you a weddin’ gift, Martha.” She nudged Pete none too gently with her elbow and he laughed.

“John, d’you have the gift? You said you were gonna tinker with it.”

“What? Oh.” John looked up from the gadget and Martha saw that look in his eyes, the sad-yet-manic Time Lord look. _Ah_ , she thought, _he’s being the Doctor just now then, not John at the moment._ “Right then,” he said, “This is for you, the pair of you,” he said. “Can’t make it work in this universe, or between ‘verses, not without a sonic, but…” he held the gadget out. “It’ll teleport in time and space, and only one of you pair, or both of you, can use it. Won’t work for others, unless you take ‘em with you.”

“Not for, say, Cap’n Beefcake,” said Mickey, and the Doctor grinned at him.

“Not unless you plan on taking him with you on your honeymoon,” he said, and then looked thoughtful and mildly horrified all at once. “You’re… _not_ actually planning on taking him on your honeymoon. Are you?”

“Of course we’re not,” Martha said as Mickey tried and failed to stifle a laugh, and then she giggled too. “Thank you, Doctor. John. Now we can go freelance, like Mickey’s talked me into finally.” She stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, and he blushed.

“Right, well. Smith and Jones again, yeah? Just a different Smith than the last time.” He wrapped those long arms around her and hugged her tight. “Martha Jones, saving the world again. _Worlds_ if I know anything at all. I’ll miss you.” He kissed the top of her head and let her go, placed her hand in Mickey’s, and gave Mickey a one-armed hug, then put his hands on their shoulders and turned them round to a place where a shimmer was appearing in the air. “Three minutes,” he said, and Martha saw that there were tears in his eyes. She squeezed Mickey’s hand.

“My go,” said Rose, stepping between them and slipping an arm around the waist of each. “ _Oh_ , I’ll miss you both. Who’d’ve thought…” She kissed each of them on the cheek, and pressed something small into Martha’s hand. “For the wedding,” she whispered in the shorter woman’s ear. “It’s blue; you gotta find your own old an’ borrowed an’ new.”

Mickey reached around Rose to take Martha’s hand again, and smiled at Rose as she stepped from between them. “Ready?” he said, and pressed this universe's version of the Key between their clasped hands.

“Ready,” Martha heard herself say as she tucked what Rose had given her into a pocket, and they stepped into the shimmer together.

 

-/-

 

this time Mickey expected the nothing   
and got something instead.

he wasn’t sure if it was because he was holding   
the Key with Martha; they’d never talked about it

but this time he could _feel_ it

the Key disintegrating  
Martha holding tightly  
to his hand

and then they were stepping out of a bright   
light and into near darkness, facing  
Jack and Gwen and Ianto

who were training guns on Mickey and Martha

 

“Shoot us or don’t, but make up your minds, yeah?”

He heard Martha’s quick intake of breath at the words, and then he was almost bowled over as Captain Jack Harkness rushed them to enfold them both in a tight embrace.

Mickey thought about telling Jack that was enough hugging, when he realised the older man was shaking, trembling as though he was fighting tears, and Mickey just relaxed into the hug. “Hey,” he heard Martha murmur, “You okay, Jack?” and Mickey felt Jack nod once, and then step back.

“Doctor Jones,” he said very formally, “Report.” And Mickey understood that Jack was trying to re-establish authority, even though he undoubtedly knew he was fooling no-one at all.

Later, in Jack’s office, Mickey listened to Martha giving her report. Just as she had the first time they talked, across a tea table here in Cardiff ten months ago, she stuck to the facts of the mission and nothing else - they had gotten to the other universe, she had hurt her arm, the human Doctor and his family had picked them up and figured out how to get them back - not giving any indication of her own feelings about the events. Until she first mentioned the Cyberchief, and she faltered. It was almost undetectable, until it happened the second time, and Mickey groped for her hand under Jack’s desk.

Jack looked up from the notes he’s been taking. “What?” He took a closer look at Martha’s face and spoke, sharply this time. “ _Martha_. What is it?”

“I…” Martha looked like she didn’t know what to say, and Mickey patted her knee under the table with her hand and his. She took a deep breath. “The Cyberchief,” she said in a faint voice that made Mickey wince. He hadn’t heard her this upset for months. “I knew it. Her, no… _it_.” She sighed miserably. “I’m sorry, Jack. It was Ianto’s girlfriend from before, Lisa from Canary Wharf. Before Ianto came here, I… Jack? Are you all right?”

Mickey saw what it was that made Martha ask; all the colour had drained from Jack’s face and he looked absolutely gobsmacked. He was shaking his head, eyes blank with shock or anger, and Mickey glanced at Martha to see if she knew what was going on. She shook her head.

 _Shit_ , Mickey thought, and he barked out Jack’s name. The older man startled and the blank look in his eyes cleared. “It wasn’t Lisa, Martha,” he said with remarkable calm, though his eyes still looked haunted to Mickey. “Lisa’s dead.”

“I know,” Martha said in that tiny voice that meant she was undone with guilt and grief. Mickey wrapped his arm around her and drew her in, but she was still talking. “I killed her. I know it wasn’t really _her_ , Jack, not since she got… cybered. But I never killed anyone I knew before and-”

“-And you haven’t now!” Jack nearly shouted it at her, and then seemed to take in the look on her face, because his own expression crumpled and he lowered his face into his hands. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, and then Martha pulled away from Mickey’s embrace and took his hand to tug him around Jack’s desk. She stood next to the immortal, still holding Mickey’s hand, and put their joined hands on Jack’s shoulder.

“Jack,” she said softly, “We’d never… we would never tell Ianto about this; we don’t want to hurt him.” _We didn’t know it would hurt_ you _– that remains unspoken_ , Mickey thought. “The written report just refers to the Cyberchief; it says nothing about Lisa as Lisa. We didn’t know whether she was Lisa from that world or this one and…” She trailed off as Jack shuddered all over. The one of his hands crept up to cover Martha’s and Mickey’s on his shoulder.

He looked up, and his face was dry but tears stood unshed in his eyes, and Mickey realised something he hadn’t before. This was the Jack people rarely if ever saw; usually he flirted or shot his way out of trouble, and only a favoured few - like Martha, and now because of Martha, Mickey himself - ever saw this vulnerability. He had thought Martha and the Doctor were alike, and now he saw that Jack was very much like them too.

The events of the Year That Never Was still haunted them all.

 

-/-

 

“I killed her,” Jack said softly. “I killed the Lisa you knew.”

 _Oh_ , thought Martha blankly, and then she realised why. “Oh, Jack,” she said, taking his face between her hands. “I’m so sorry.”

Jack gave a completely un-amused bark of laughter. “And that’s what makes you Martha Jones. I tell you I killed someone, someone you _knew_ , and all you show is sympathy. For me.”

“You’d do exactly the same, Jack,” Martha said and pecked him on the lips. “You’d have to have had a good reason, like, oh, she was a dangerous _cyber_. You wouldn’t kill just out of jealousy over Ianto, no matter how much you love him.” She heard Mickey make a concerned noise in his throat and let go of Jack’s face, turned to look at him with a questioning expression..

“It’s… you’re all alike, you and Cap’n Jack here and the Doctor. You’d forgive someone y’love _anything_ , but it takes you _ages_ t’forgive yourself.”

“If ever,” Jack murmured under his breath, and Martha pretended not to hear.

 


	15. Home

It was a dark and stormy night in Cardiff when they left the Hub with Jack, who looked much better. _Had to put on a good show for Ianto and Gwen_ , Mickey thought, _but Ianto’ll probably figure out that something’s bothering him._

“Come on,” said Jack as they neared the Plass, “I’ll treat you two to a hotel suite. The works - couple of posh bedrooms, a lounge, all of it.” He grinned at them, and Mickey snorted out a laugh.

“Don’ need it,” he said, “Single room’ll do fine.” He felt Martha’s hand squeeze his and returned the pressure.

Jack laughed. “Good. Protecting your virtue might’ve broken the bank, Martha.” And now Martha was laughing, and everything was all right again.

It was a half-suite in any case, only the one bedroom, but a separate lounge and kitchenette. So when Martha announced that she was knackered and really needed some rest - and after she reassured Mickey that it wasn’t that killing fatigue that had happened the last time they’d travelled between universes with the Key as a power source - she went into the bedroom, and the door closed behind her with a definitive _click._  

“You love her,” Jack said simply, and Mickey nodded.

“Not like y’think,” he said seriously. “S’more than that. She’s…” he trailed off, trying to find the words. Jack smiled at him knowingly.

“Not like your sister, then,” he said, blue eyes twinkling.

“Nah. Rose is that, now. Martha is… more. So _strong_ , but there’re spots where…”

“Where she’s vulnerable. She bore too much to bear for too long, and she needs to let someone else take it for a while.”

Mickey took a deep breath. “Yeah. An’ she does, now.” He smiled. “Sometimes I gotta bully ‘her into it though. Jack…”

“Yeah?”

“Would y’stand up for me? At the weddin’? Short notice an’ all; it’s Tuesday next f’we can get a hall or somethin’... what?” Jack’s eyes had gone all shiny and teary again.

“I would be honoured,” Jack said simply. “If Martha thinks her family can bear to see me, after the Year that Never Was. I… don’t want to hurt them by reminding them of…” He trailed off, his voice cracking slightly.

“You _won’t_ ,” Mickey said as emphatically as he could. Jack _must_ understand. “Martha… she told me some of what… what you did on the _Valiant_. Sounds t’me like y’kept the Master’s attention as much as y’could, t’keep it _off_ Martha’s family. Didn’t you?” Both Jack’s eyes had overflowed, just one tear down each cheek, but he didn’t take that intense blue gaze off Mickey’s face.

“They’re only human,” he said in a voice so quiet Mickey almost didn’t hear it, but it got stronger as Jack continued. “Never mind immortality, some of it was _training_ from before, from the Time Agency. I had… ways of dealing with what the Master and his Toclafane dished out.” He shuddered all over and Mickey very nearly hugged him, but Jack looked so forbidding that Mickey stayed back. “They did things that would have broken any one of the Joneses on the first pass. I had to, Mickey, I _had_ to. For Martha if not for their own sakes, I…”

“You did exactly right, Jack,” came Martha’s quiet voice from the doorway where she stood. “Oh, Jack, I’m so sorry.” _She_ wasn’t afraid to rush over and hug Jack, Mickey noticed, and he retired to the kitchenette to make hot, sweet tea for the pair of them, patting Martha’s arm as he went.

 

-/-

 

“They’ll be thrilled to see you, Jack,” Martha said softly, “They’ve missed you.” _They really have,_ she thought, _not that he’ll believe it. But he’ll put on a good show, he always does until he breaks._

“Yeah, well,” he said cheerily, pulling back and winking at her, proving her thoughts, “What’s not to like?”

Martha gave him a long, level look that said _don’t play that game with me buster, ‘cause I know better,_ and he sigh, the insouciant grin sliding off his face. He suddenly looked terribly tired to Martha, and that was something she hadn’t seen often in Jack Harkness’ face. The last time had been at Tosh and Owen’s funeral, and even then it hadn’t shown in anything but the red-rimmed eyes.

“It’s true,” she said softly. “They… it’s hard to explain. They _love_ you, Jack. Mum told me about some of the… distractions you provided to the Master wouldn’t think about her and Dad and Tish.” He winced and she shivered. _God, the things he’d volunteered for to keep the Master off my family. Mum didn’t know the half of it, if Tish is to be believed_. “They don’t feel the same way about the Doctor,” she continued, a little sadly. “He’s… in Mum’s mind, at least, he was partly responsible for the whole thing. They don’t hate him, they… pity him after what they saw done to him. But they don’t like him either. They _do_ like you.”

She smiled up at Mickey as he handed her a cup of sweet hot tea, and nodded approvingly as he gave another to Jack, sitting on the low table in front of the sofa, where he could see both their faces. “I don’t think Martha’s mum gets all the good stuff the Doctor’s done, neither. None of us do when we’re mad, but her mum’s _only_ seen the bad stuff, y’know? She doesn’t see the other, like what’d happen if he never showed up.”

“I’d be dead in the Blitz,” Jack said, “And I’d never have met either of you, and _that_ would be a tragedy.” He leered at Martha, who punched him in the arm, and he sobered. “But yeah, in a very real way, we might not even exist if it weren’t for the Doctor.”

“I know I wouldn’t,” Martha heard herself saying, and stopped.

“Whaddaya mean?” Mickey asked, his expression showing nothing.

“I… when we were in Pete’s World, I checked. I knew you’d had a double there, and I wanted to check if I did too.” Mickey wrapped his hands around hers on the forgotten mug of tea, so Martha sipped. Then she sighed. “She was dead, of course. Without the Doctor, that Martha – Martina, there - Jones died on the moon, suffocated along with everyone else at Royal Hope when the Judoon took it there.”

Mickey winced, and Martha reached up to kiss him. “S’okay, love,” she murmured against his mouth, “I expected it.” Then she pulled back. “Right then. Jack, will you be Mickey’s best man? We hope to have the wedding next week if we can manage it.”

“We do want y’there,” Mickey put in, “As a guest if y’can’t see your way clear t’bein’ me best man. An’ either way y’can bring Ianto.”

“I would be honoured,” Jack said again, without a trace of the usual slightly mocking grin. But then it started. “Oh, Martha, you’ve hardly left me any time to corrupt the boy.” He gave them both a truly naughty little smile as Mickey spluttered and Martha tried to look severe. “What?” Jack said, trying and failing to look innocent. “It is my duty as the best man - and I _am_ the best - to throw you a stag party you’ll never forget. And I always do my duty.”

“You sure, love?” Mickey was fretting next morning; she shouldn’t have to go without him. But she nodded at him, cuddled against him on the London train. “Not even Cap’n Jack, for backup?”

“General Sanchez… before he was killed, he reminded me that I take my orders from UNIT, not from Torchwood,” Martha explained. “It was only a week or so ago for them, and I might need UNIT someday. If I bring Jack as backup, they’ll… they’ll take it as switched allegiances. I need their good will, Mickey.” She took a deep breath. “I’m going to talk to the branch of UNIT that hired me to begin with; London. I’m going to talk with Kate.”

Jack, sitting across from them with Ianto, nodded. “She’s right, Mickey. Kate’s relatively reasonable, but the rest of UNIT London is likely to be… uncomfortable with her association with Torchwood. Freelance is one thing, but Torchwood, well…” He smiled tiredly. “We’re beyond the pale.”

“They’ve no right,” Mickey began hotly, but Martha interrupted him.

“No, love, they don’t. But that’s the way it is, and if I have to I’ll pull out how much they owe me. I’m betting I won’t have to.” She paused, then reached up to kiss him. “Love you.”

“An’ you.”

Later, she met them for dinner, and told them what had happened in her meeting with Kate.

“It’s a bit creepy, you know,” she said, “The way they know what’s been happening. They didn’t know we’d been gone all those months; as far as they were concerned we were just inside the Hub for four days. But they have eyes and ears all over, maybe even more than you do, Jack.”

“Think so?” said Jack, casually, and Martha knew he was keeping secrets. “They’ve got nothing here,” he continued, gesturing to the flat they were in. “Or across the hall, where you two will be staying tonight. Unless…?” he waggled his eyebrows at them, and Martha laughed.

“You know better, Jack. Oh! I’ve just remembered. I’ve a gift for you pair.”

“From UNIT?” Ianto was doubtful. “Let me get the scanner.”

“”Oh, there’s no need,” said Martha. “It’s been in my possession all along, and UNIT let me keep it.” She dug a red UNIT cap out of her handbag and dangled it on her fingertip. “D’you still want it, Jack?” she asked in the most innocent tone she could manage, and Jack laughed, accepting the gift and tucking it carefully away, giving Ianto a speculative, promising  look as the younger man flushed. Martha noticed that the flush was nearly as red as the cap.

“Do I wanna know?” Mickey asked, and Martha shook her head at him.

“Hmm,” she said, “We’ll have to discuss that later.”

“What’s the plan?” Ianto was recovering his composure and Martha rather regretted that. Red was his colour, after all.

She took a deep breath. “Tomorrow I take Mickey home to meet my parents.”


	16. Horse and Carriage, Redux

_Not the tin dog_ , thought Mickey over and over, _not the tin dog._ He could cope if Martha’s folks didn’t like him, but what if they didn’t like him and they turned Martha against him? All that responsibility and guilt she carried around; she might feel obliged to side with her family and just… _not the tin dog, not the tin dog_.

“Mickey, love, they’ll love you,” Martha said, and squeezed his hand. “At least, after I explain that you’re not genocidal they will.”

But her hand in his trembled, and Mickey wondered who she was trying to convince - him or herself.

Martha reached out with her other hand and opened the door. “Mum? Dad, Tish?” She took a deep breath. “I’m home.”

“In the kitchen,” came a reply, and Martha tugged on Mickey’s hand until he followed her into the kitchen. There were two women there, and they looked up. The younger smiled at them, but the older one looked at Mickey suspiciously.

“Mum, Tish,” Martha said simply. “This is Mickey Smith. We’re getting married.”

A look of… concern, maybe even alarm... replaced the suspicion. “Martha… I… I think you’re a bit confused, because Tom… when you didn’t come back they phoned here, looking for you, so they could tell you... Tom is--”

“Mum, I know. I… look.” Martha took a deep breath. “It’s complicated, and it’s been a lot longer than the week or so since… Mum!” She sprang forward as Francine swayed a bit, looking both sick and scared, but Mickey beat her to it, gently grasping the older woman by the elbow and hooking a chair with his foot.

“Missus Jones, you sit here an’ Martha’ll explain it all while I get you some tea. Tish, can you show me the tea things?”

“Was it…” Francine shuddered all over and swallowed hard. “If it’s been longer than the week, was it a… like the _Valiant_ , a reset…?”

“Oh, God, Mum, _no!_ Oh, no, I’m so sorry.” Martha sank into the chair next to her mother, and Mickey kept a watch out of the corner of his eye as he made tea. “No, it wasn’t. Mickey and I, we were just in a different… a place where time runs differently. It’s been about ten months since we found out Tom had been killed, and we ended up in that other space, and… thank you, love,” she said as Mickey handed them each a mug of hot sweet tea, and he nodded.

Francine seemed better; it was only the initial shock of what might have happened, and Mickey knew he was correct in this when she sat up straight. “Thank you,” she said in a voice that reminded him of his Gran. A no-nonsense, matriarch kind of a voice. “Now then, Mr. Smith, would you be so kind as to join Leo and Mr. Jones in the lounge? You too, Tish, and you can show him where it is. I want to talk to Martha alone.”

 

-/-

 

“Mum…” Martha began after Tish and Mickey left, but her mother interrupted.

“Martha, you know I haven’t always… approved of your friends.” Francine looked uncomfortable to Martha, and after all she’d told her daughter about what had happened on the _Valiant_ , Martha shuddered inwardly over what might make her look uncomfortable _now_.

“I know,” Martha said softly.

“But before you think that means I won’t… I won’t take your Mickey on his own merits, I want to tell you I was wrong.” Francine took a deep drink of her tea and murmured something Martha didn’t catch, then continued. “About the Doctor, I mean. It wasn’t really his fault the M… his friend was obsessed with him.” She shook her head. “I don’t understand the Doctor, how he could forg…” She trailed off, choking on the last word, and Martha took her hands.

In spite of the mug of tea, Francine’s hands were ice cold, and Martha knew how hard this was for her mother. How hard it was for Francine to admit she was wrong. “How he could forgive his old friend all those terrible things,” she said, “I don’t think any of us understand it, Mum. Jack might, given that he’s lived so long, but, well… we forget that they only _look_ human, Time Lords do.”

“They looked so young,” Francine said, squeezing Martha’s hands. “Maybe in their forties at most, both the Doctor and... and Saxon.” _Can’t call him the Master, Mum, can you? Because that’s what he was on the Valiant, Master of the humans, his slaves, his… playthings._ But Francine was still talking. “And your Mickey,” she said, “He can’t look above thirty, and--” She broke off as Martha laughed.

“Mum, Mickey’s not a Time Lord! He’s as human as you or me,” _(more than me,_ Martha thought, _with the healing factor and all)_. “He was born in London, in fact, right over in Peckham. Besides, with people called the Doctor and the Master, d’you _really_ think a Time Lord would be called _Mickey_?” She laughed and so did her mum, and the sight made Martha, finally, relax. Mum could be difficult and judgemental, but Martha loved her, and she hated making the older woman unhappy.

“Martha, why do you want to get married so quickly?” Martha smiled; Francine was really trying, asking her reasons instead of telling her what she could do. “I mean, I don’t understand how you were gone for months, but I can… after the Year I can accept it. But why the rush? You’re not…?” She made a vague gesture at Martha’s middle and Martha smiled.

“No, Mum, I’m not pregnant. But I’ve quit my job at UNIT and gone freelance with Mickey, and we just… we want things formalised soon as we can. That’s all. Well, and Jack’s standing up for Mickey and he can only stay so long.” Martha looked carefully at her mother. “That’s okay with you, yeah? Jack being there?”

“Of course,” Francine said automatically, and Martha was satisfied. “Martha?”

“Hmm?”

“Is Mickey a good man?”

 _He is, oh, Mum, he is, even when he doesn’t know it._ “Yes.”

“And does he love you?”

“He does.”

“Do you love him?”

“Yes. I do.”

“Then you have my blessing.”

 

-/-

 

Mickey had always thought that weddings were ringed about with drama and angst, but then he’d never seen a wedding organised in three days by Missus Francine Jones before. All he had to do was make choices when he was presented with them, go out with Jack and Ianto and Gwen’s Rhys and Martha’s father and brother (and there was, rather surprisingly, nothing more risqué than a bikini-clad girl jumping out of a cake, and Jack snogging Ianto quietly in a corner). That was it; Mickey didn’t even have _time_ to get nervous, and suddenly he was standing at the front of a church, in the groom’s place this time, waiting for Martha to come down the aisle to him.

And then she _was_ , and Mickey’s breath caught in his throat, because she was beautiful. All those tiny braids Rose had done for her, piled on top of her head in some sort of complicated pattern with tiny bows scattered in a creamy sort of white and a purple so dark it was nearly black, like the skin of an aubergine. There was more of the purple colour peeping out through bits of creamy lace on her dress, too, but most of all it was _her_ , Martha, his… his thoughts scattered as she reached him, and her father put her hand in Mickey’s.

He was never sure, afterward, if he had done anything stupid during the ceremony, because he couldn’t remember it. Martha - her face, her hair, her dress - was his whole world, all he was aware of. He must’ve made the right responses and all, because they were definitely married, and the party after was more memorable anyway.

Even then it was more impressions than a string of memories.

Martha disappeared for a moment, and when she came back the full cream-coloured skirt of her dress was gone and she was wearing aubergine shoes that matched the much shorter and tighter skirt that the dress had now.

Mr and Mrs Jones - Clive and Francine, he’d been told to call them - dancing together. Given what he’d heard during some of Martha’s sleepless nights, it was something of a small miracle that they were back together. A little silver lining out of the horror of the Year That Never Was.

Gwen and Rhys cuddling in a corner, and Mickey remembered that they’d only been married for a few months themselves. He’d liked Rhys, quite a lot as it turned out, this ordinary bloke who’d stepped up when the Torchwood people needed him. Mickey knew quite a bit about being the ordinary bloke thrust into bizarre circumstances.

Jack dancing with anyone - of either gender - who would take him up on it, but always, always circling back to Ianto, like the young man was the centre of his world the way Martha was of Mickey’s.

But most of all it was Martha herself, dancing with him, with Jack and Leo and Ianto and Clive, but always circling back just as Jack did to Ianto.

Mickey wondered if any of them knew it.

Then the party ended, and they were seen off into a fancy car Jack’d gotten somewhere, off to a hotel they’d gotten a voucher for as a wedding gift, and they were finally alone.

They did the silly married things, like carrying her across the threshold of the room, and giggled together like idiots and finally they lay together across the big bed and Martha sighed.

“Hope that’s contented-like,” Mickey said sleepily, and Martha smiled at him.

“‘Course it is. Would’ve been nice if the Doctor’d been there, but other than that, today was just perfect.” Her voice caught a bit on the last word and Mickey opened his eyes to look into her tear-filled ones.

“Happy tears, yeah?”

“Yeah. Mickey… I’m so glad you wouldn’t go when I needed you, and that you wouldn’t stay there without me.” Martha reached up and stroked along Mickey’s jaw with one finger.

He turned his head to drop a kiss into her palm.


	17. Honeymoon and Aftermath

The honeymoon was idyllic, if one counted running for your lives an idyllic pursuit. But it only happened the once, on that orangey, deserty moon, and the rest of the time was beautiful. There was something to be said, Martha reflected, for playing the tourist in time and space, rather than gallivanting around the universe saving this planet and that playwright and the human race over and over.

Besides, neither she nor Mickey really minded the running.

And there was plenty of what the Doctor might have called _not_ -running, too. Making love in a grotto under alien skies, and browsing fantastic markets for companion charms to go with the little blue enamelled TARDIS Rose had given her just before they’d left Pete’s World. There was a tiny pink-gemmed ringed planet charm from the world known as Segonax, and a charm from a farming colony - the charm was the shape and colour of an aubergine - that one Mickey had insisted on buying for her. Then he’d joked that as they had pink and purple and blue, they should go for green next.

The greenest planet Martha knew of was Earth, so they went home.

And landed in London, in the aftermath of a nightmare.

It was a nightmare that had begun less than a fortnight after they had left, and Martha felt the usual pang of guilt before she scolded herself into realising her absence hadn’t caused this.

And the rumours - Jack had gone mad and blown up the Hub, or Jack had given children to aliens or… and the kindest of those rumours suggested that Jack went mad after Ianto’s death - Ianto was dead - and the crazies were out in full force about unnatural relationships and all that rot.

Martha just wanted to know what happened, and so they hopped to Cardiff.

It was worse there than in London, because these people _knew_ Jack, but they still thought he could, that he would... the Hub was _gone_ , and Martha stood near the crater with tears in her eyes. “What happened, Mickey?” She knew he didn’t know, but he could still surprise her.

“D’you know where Gwen lives?” It was a simple question.

“Come on,” she said, and grabbed his hand, tugged on it until he followed.

 

-/-

 

“It… he… oh, _God_ , Martha. Ianto’s dead and Jack, he…” Gwen choked and Rhys put his arms around her.

“He… sacrificed some kids back in the sixties. There were these aliens and he gave them these kids to like protect the rest of Earth. And two weeks ago, the aliens came back…”

“They took over the children,” Gwen said, with an evident calm that Mickey found eerie. “We tried to find other ways…” She swayed as her voice faded, then strengthened, and Rhys’s arms tightened around her. “But after the aliens - the 4 5 6 - killed Ianto and Jack--”

“--and a lot of other people,” put in Rhys, and Gwen nodded.

“When Jack revived after that he found that the government had promised the 4 5 6 thirty-five million children,” Gwen said blankly, and Martha shuddered. Mickey took her hand. “So Jack gave them one. One child, and he… funnelled a signal through him to kill all the 4 5 6. I…” She trailed off again, and Mickey cleared his throat.

Before he could speak, Martha said, with a terrible gentleness, “Was the child someone you knew, Gwen?”

Gwen clearly couldn’t answer, and Rhys put in, “Jack’s own grandson. He… he was the only child Jack had access to, and I think some part of Jack hoped…”

Mickey nodded with understanding even as Martha said, “Hoped that his own immortality would transfer, because the child was… his.”

“An’ where in _hell_ was the Doctor in all this?” Mickey was furious; the Doctor was meant to be here when shit like this happened. “He’d’ve found another way, even if Jack couldn’t, so where the hell _was_ he?”

Gwen nodded, and found her voice, high and faint, and said, “And Jack’s gone too. He left us to… he… he’s gone. We don’t know where.”

“Well, we’re gonna find out,” Mickey said fiercely, “Martha, hand over the teleport.”

“Mickey…” Martha began, but he’d had enough, and he rounded on her. “Look, Jack needs someone who’s done that sorta shit, yeah? Someone who’s been through them wars. An’ the _Doctor…_ ” He spat out the word with contempt, “He’s not here, is ‘e?”

“Don’t go alone,” Martha said, and reached up to stroke Mickey’s jaw with one finger.

“Wait, how’re you going to find him?” Rhys wanted to know, and Mickey hardly spared him a glance.

“The dupe Doctor in the other world, he made us a teleport. This Doctor - the one who didn’t show up when you needed ‘im - says that Jack is wrong in time an’ space. I’m bettin’ I can get the teleport to home in on that an’ find Jack for us.”

Martha handed him the teleport and a little screwdriver set. Mickey fiddled with the dials and buttons for a bit, then looked up and held out his hand to Martha. “Ready?”

“Ready,” she said, and…

 

...this was different to the  
teleporting they’d been doing.  
Mickey had time to wonder if they’d  
make it and then…

 

… then they were facing Jack Harkness, who was standing alone in a cold and dimly lit room, his handsome face ravaged with grief and his eyes, _God_ , Mickey thought, _and I’d thought his eyes were sad before_.

Now they looked more than sad, more than hurt.

Jack’s eyes looked… done. Like he’d finally seen too much, done too much to bear, and Mickey felt his heart clench up as he looked into those fathomless blue depths.

Then Jack blinked as Martha let go Mickey’s hand and launched herself at him, throwing her arms around him and murmuring into his chest, _I’m sorry, oh, Jack, I’m so sorry_. But other than the blink, Jack didn’t move, his arms didn’t close around Martha; he just stood there.

And Mickey felt more pity for Jack in that moment than he ever had before in his life. _He’ll never forgive himself,_ Mickey thought. _Even if the people of Earth, even if the child’s_ mother _forgive him, even though it was the only thing that could have been done, Jack will never. Ever. Forgive himself._

_And he’s going to live forever._

_Thousands, maybe millions of years, never forgiving himself for sacrificing the one to save the many._

Now Mickey and Martha were both crying and holding onto Jack, and Jack still just stood there like he was in shock, and presently Mickey heard Martha say _it couldn’t be helped; there wasn’t another way_.

And Jack stiffened and pulled away from them both, wrapping his arms around himself and turning his back on them.

“Jack,” Mickey heard, and he wasn’t sure whether he had said it or Martha had, but it didn’t matter. And Jack swung around to face them, his fists clenched and his eyes cold.

“Go away,” he said, nearly snarled, but Martha and Mickey stood together now, hand in hand; Mickey understood that they wouldn’t leave until Jack had heard what they had to say.

Even though he’d never believe it wasn’t his fault, they had to say it.

“There wasn’t another way, Jack,” Martha said, and Mickey felt her control the flinch when Jack rounded on her.

“What the hell do you know, Martha? When was the last time you killed a _child_?”

“During the Year That Never Was,” Martha said simply, and Mickey managed not to gasp aloud at the shock of it, but he couldn’t help his grip tightening convulsively around her fingers.

Martha never took her eyes off Jack, and although the immortal looked stunned for just a split second, in the next moment he made a dismissive gesture. “Right,” he said,  in a soft, cold voice than was scarier than if he’d shouted, “But you'd never kill anyone, much less a child, not _you_ , Dr. Martha Jones who walks the earth and saves the human race. You’d never kill unless there was no other choice; to defend yourself or someone in your care.”

“Or to defend thirty-five million kids by sacrificing one, Jack,” Mickey heard himself say. “There _was_ no other choice.”

“The Doctor would have found one,” Jack said, and now, finally, there were tears in his eyes.

 _The Doctor wasn’t here,_ Mickey thought bitterly, even as Martha said it aloud and Jack shook his head, clearly blaming himself and not the Doctor’s absence. And then Martha said the one thing that could maybe get through Jack’s self-loathing and rage long enough to at least _begin_ the long process of healing.

“We’re sorry about Ianto. We loved him too.”

 

-/-

 

“I never told him,” Jack said in a voice so quiet that Martha wasn’t sure she’d heard it. Jack sank into the hard chair behind him. “I never said. He…” There were still tears standing in his eyes and Martha ached all over with sympathy. “He… I held him and he was d-dying and I never said.” _Oh, Jack,_ she thought, _you loved him, and he knew._

“He knew, Jack,” Martha heard Mickey say. “Even I knew, an’ I’d only met ‘im a few times. He knew.”

“But I didn’t say. I never told him.”

“But he knew. Everyone did.” They said it together this time, and Jack worked up a ghost of a smile.

“Thanks. You should go,” he said, “And be safe. I’m not fit company.”

“Jack…”

“I’ll be okay.”

 _He’s lying,_ Martha thought, _but we can’t force him to talk it out. Oh, my poor Jack._

But they left; there was nothing for it. They spoke to Gwen and Rhys, reassured them that Jack was, if not all right, at least not a danger to anyone. And then they went to the hotel on the Plass where it had all begun.

Martha lay in the protective circle of Mickey’s arms and wept.

“You regret leavin’ ‘im there?”

Martha shook her head. “If he was a patient I’d put him on suicide watch. But he _can’t_ die, no matter how much he wants to. And his _eyes…_ God, Mickey, I…”

“I know,” Mickey said, and held her some more.

She knew he wouldn’t ask her about what she’d said. He might even assume she’d been lying for Jack’s sake, about the Year and the child she’d killed. But if she wanted to talk about it he would be there, he would listen.

Because that’s who Mickey was.

 "I don't want to be here on Earth, not right now."

"Then we'll go somewhere else."

Yeah, that's who Mickey was.


	18. Epilogue

It took Mickey several months to realise that it wasn’t really the Doctor’s fault that he hadn’t been on Earth when the 4 5 6 were.

He had been somewhere else, some _when_ else, and where and when he was - it wasn’t always under his control. Martha and Jack had known that, whether instinctively or through experience, but Mickey hadn’t realised.

“Don’t go,” Martha said, but Mickey had to. They’d contracted for this, the single-Sontaran invasion of this colony in another century, and now that Martha was… well, Mickey told her to stay here in their hidden pod. He knew she wouldn’t - she never did - but they still went through it for the form of the thing. She would say _don’t go_ and he would tell her to stay here; it was like a little good luck charm. And even though neither of them believed in luck - like coincidence, it didn’t happen in time travel - they still said it.

That would have to stop in another month or two though, and maybe they’d both take a holiday until after. Go to Earth, visit her parents.

Have the baby.

So Mickey kissed her goodbye, hard, and left to take on the Sontaran.

But then Mickey couldn’t find the damn potato, and when Martha ran up with someone shooting at her, he gave her a friendly little snarl.

“I told you to stay behind _.” Yeah, right. Like you would._

“You looked like you needed help,” she said. “Besides, you're the one who persuaded me to go freelance.”

“Yeah, but... we're being fired at by a Sontaran.” Mickey stole a glance over the rock. “A dumplin’ with a gun. And this is no place for a married woman.”

“Well then. You shouldn't have married me.” They grinned at each other like idiots for a moment, and Mickey made up his mind that this _would_ be the last mission before they went back to Earth to have the baby. He didn’t ask her for much; she’d know it was important to him. And it’d do them good to take an Earth-year off.

“If we go in here, and down to the factory floor, and down past that corridor,” Mickey said, thinking aloud so Martha could follow his tactics, “Then he won't know that we're here.”

Martha saw something, and clutched at him. “Mickey. Mickey.” He followed her gaze.

And there he was, the Doctor. Looking as sad and as… broken as he ever had. Nearly as bad off as Jack had been the last time they saw him. “Hey!” Mickey called out, wanting to explain, to apologise for the terrible things he’d thought about the Time Lord. But he knew, he just _knew_.

The Doctor was dying.

He’d regenerate, of course, Mickey knew that; he’d seen it. But… oh God, _this_ Doctor was dying.

The Doctor turned away, and Martha and Mickey held each other for comfort.

 

-/-

 

_2020_

“Mummy, tell me about the Doctor,” the little girl said, and Martha complied. Rosie was nine now, and the earthquakes in South Wales earlier that day had just screamed _Doctor_ to Martha, and apparently her daughter was sensitive to such events as well. So she told little Rosie of the Doctor she had known, the child-friendly version of course, and when Mickey brought Michael John in the TARDIS pyjamas Martha had made, the little family snuggled up in Martha’s big bed to talk over the stories.

When Michael John fell asleep, Mickey got up to put him back in his own bed, and Martha called out softly.

“Mickey. Don’t go.”

Mickey gave her a long look, then came back to the bed and deposited the little boy at the foot of it next to his sister. He climbed in next to Martha.

“Budge over then.”

 


End file.
